The Noble Stag

    It had been a two weeks since that night. Clarke had made it clear to Lexa, in her own way, that she knew what was happening between them. The teasing, the smirks, the moments of closeness—they were no longer accidental. They were intentional. Clarke knew that Lexa was attracted to her, and she wasn’t shy about leaning into it.

    No more hesitation. No more second-guessing. The way Lexa’s gaze lingered just a moment too long or how her touch sometimes lingered more than it needed to. Clarke saw it all now—and she liked it. She liked knowing that they were both in this, whatever this was, together.

    There was a new confidence in Clarke now. She wasn’t shy about teasing Lexa back. Every brush of her fingers against Lexa’s skin wasn’t an accident anymore. Every casual moment of closeness carried weight.

    But Lexa? She tried to keep her cool. She was still certain that she was in control. Even after the kiss from Clarke, she convinced herself that she had the situation firmly in hand.

    But the more time they spent together, the more difficult it became for Lexa to keep up the pretense. There was an undeniable pull between them, a connection that was growing stronger.

---

    Clarke strolled into the bar with Octavia beside her, the late afternoon light casting a warm glow over the space. The scent of aged whiskey and freshly sliced citrus filled the air, mixing with the faint hum of conversation. Raven was running late, caught up at the shop, but Clarke wasn’t in a hurry.

    Because Lexa was behind the bar.

    Clarke’s gaze instantly found her, clad in her usual vest and black tie, looking effortlessly put together. She was in the middle of talking to a woman seated at the bar—a very attractive woman, if Clarke were being objective.

    Tall, sleek, with dark hair pulled into a high ponytail, the woman was leaning in just a little too much, fingers grazing over Lexa’s arm as she laughed at something Lexa had said. And Lexa, ever the professional, smiled back, though Clarke knew her well enough now to recognize the slight tension in her shoulders.

    Octavia nudged Clarke’s side, amused. “Don’t look so grumpy, Griffin. You could just go over there and do something about it.”

    Clarke rolled her eyes, but her feet were already carrying her forward. “I’m not grumpy,” she said, though she absolutely was.

    “Sure,” Octavia drawled. “Just don’t throw a punch.”

    Clarke wasn’t going to. She wasn’t jealous-jealous—not in a petty way, at least. But was she territorial? Maybe. Just a little. And instead of brooding about it, she decided to play to her strengths: smart, goofy, and flirty.

    She slid onto a barstool next to the woman, all casual confidence, and immediately turned to Lexa with a bright, easy grin. “Hey, you,” she greeted, completely ignoring the other woman’s presence. “I’ve been thinking—what would you recommend for someone in desperate need of refreshment but also... something with a kick? Maybe something dangerous?”

    Lexa’s eyes flicked to hers, an amused glint in their depths. Clarke knew she was playing along the moment her lips twitched into that familiar, infuriatingly attractive smirk.

    “You’re not really here for a drink, are you?” Lexa asked, her voice smooth as she leaned her hands on the counter.

    Clarke ignored the question entirely and instead let her fingers tap against the bar. “Because I’ve had a long day, and I trust you to know exactly what I need.”

    The woman beside her arched a perfectly shaped brow, clearly catching the tension in the air. “Lexa was just helping me choose something, actually,” she interjected, her voice silky, a little too smug for Clarke’s taste.

    Clarke turned to her, giving her the most radiantly fake polite smile she could manage. “Oh, yeah?” she said, resting her elbow on the counter. “That’s great! But, see, Lexa’s an expert at reading people. Knows them inside and out.” Her gaze flicked to Lexa, deliberately warm, inviting. “Isn’t that right?”

    Lexa exhaled through her nose, clearly trying to suppress a laugh. She knew exactly what Clarke was doing.

    Clarke leaned in a little closer, brushing her arm against Lexa’s. “And I have very specific tastes,” she continued, voice dipping just slightly. “So I’d really like to hear what you think suits me best.”

    The other woman was watching now, eyes narrowing slightly, realizing she had lost whatever ground she thought she had. Lexa, for her part, let the silence stretch for a second longer before finally nodding.

    “You like it spicy, huh?” she mused, tilting her head in consideration, but Clarke didn’t miss the flicker of gratitude in her eyes.

    “Very,” Clarke murmured, a challenge in her tone. “But smooth. Something that lingers.”

    Octavia, who had been watching all of this unfold like a live sitcom, hid her grin behind her beer.

    Lexa exhaled, shaking her head slightly as she reached for a bottle behind her. “I think I’ve got just the thing.”

    As Lexa poured the drink, Clarke leaned on the bar, letting her fingers absentmindedly trace the rim of a nearby glass. “By the way,” she said, voice all casual ease, “I have to say, your service is phenomenal. Way better than anywhere else in town.”

    Lexa slid the glass toward her, eyes locked on Clarke’s. “Is that so?”

    “Mm-hmm,” Clarke hummed, taking the drink. “You make me feel very…taken care of.”

    Octavia groaned and muttered, “This is unbearable,” under her breath, but Lexa—Lexa was fighting a full-blown smile now.

    The woman beside them had clearly gotten the message, because she picked up her drink and stood. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Lexa,” she said, her voice clipped.

    Lexa, ever polite, inclined her head. “You too.”

    As soon as she walked away, Clarke grinned in satisfaction and took a sip of her drink. “Huh. That is good,” she mused. “But I think I like teasing you more.”

    Lexa huffed, shaking her head as she picked up a rag to wipe the counter. “You really enjoy doing that, don’t you?”

    Clarke smirked. “Oh, absolutely.”

    And maybe, just maybe, Lexa did too.

    The night had fully settled in, and the bar was alive with music, conversation, and the clinking of glasses. The usual evening rush had brought in more customers, filling the space with laughter and the low hum of background chatter. Clarke, who had been nursing a single drink for the last hour, wanted to stay sharp—fully present when she faced off with Lexa in their ongoing game of flirtation.

    Raven had arrived not long after Clarke and Octavia’s earlier scene at the bar, rolling her eyes when Clarke filled her in on her not-so-subtle act of territorial teasing. But Clarke just shrugged. She and Lexa both enjoyed their little battles. Why hold back?

    Now, Clarke and Raven were at the pool table, casually wrecking their competition, their confidence unmatched. Clarke was in her element, effortlessly lining up shots, calculating angles, and sinking balls like it was second nature. She knew she was good, and it was fun.

    And apparently, it caught someone’s attention.

    A new customer had walked in—a woman with dark hair and sharp eyes, dressed in a fitted leather jacket. She moved with an easy confidence, heading straight for the bar.

    Anya was the one serving her.

    The woman leaned on the counter, waiting for her beer, and then gestured toward the pool table. “Who’s the blonde?”

    Anya smirked, sensing an opportunity for mischief. She glanced toward Lexa, who was not far behind her, mixing drinks for another customer.

    “Oh, her?” Anya said just a little louder than necessary, making sure Lexa would hear. “That’s Clarke.”

    Lexa’s hand faltered ever so slightly on the shaker before she recovered, her movements remaining controlled. But Anya caught it—and smirked.

    The woman, intrigued, let her eyes roam back toward Clarke, who was lining up another shot. “She’s hot,” she mused, a slow grin spreading on her lips. “I think I’m gonna take my shot.”

    Anya, fully aware of the firestorm she was about to create, gave an innocent shrug. “Do your best.”

    The woman grabbed her beer, turned, and started toward the pool table. But Anya didn’t miss the heat of Lexa’s glare.

    She winked at her little sister. “I told you she turns heads when she’s not fumbling around you,” she teased. “Woman up and sweep her off her feet—like I did with Raven.”

    Lexa shot her a deadpan look, eyes narrowing. “If she wasn’t about to fall off her chair that night, you wouldn’t have found the courage to ask her out.”

    Anya’s smirk faltered as a faint blush rose to her cheeks. “We are not talking about that,” she muttered, flipping Lexa off before moving to serve another customer.

    Lexa just smirked.

    One Point to Lexa.

    At the pool table, Clarke had just won another round when the woman stepped up beside her, casual and confident.

    “Hey, play me next, I'm Niylah,” she introduced herself, offering a small smile.

    “Clarke,” Clarke returned easily, twirling the cue stick in her fingers.

    Niylah’s presence was relaxed, but there was a little too much touch in the way she leaned in when Clarke lined up her next shot. It wasn’t enough to set off any alarms, but it was notable.

    Still, Clarke kept things friendly. Niylah was polite, for now.

    They played a round together, but Clarke was dominant in the game, sinking shots effortlessly, her movements confident and precise. Raven and Octavia cheered her on from the side, hyping her up.

    But then—Niylah got bolder.

    As Clarke sank another shot, Niylah leaned in, voice low. “You’re incredible at this. It’s impressive.”

    Clarke chuckled, propping herself against the table. “What can I say? I’m good with my hands.”

    Raven choked on her drink.

    Niylah grinned, stepping closer. “That so? Maybe I should keep you around to teach me a few things.”

    Before Clarke could respond, she caught a wild series of gestures from Raven and Octavia, both of whom were not-so-discreetly flailing toward the bar.

    Confused, Clarke glanced over—and there was Lexa.

    Her gaze was locked onto them, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched, nose flared in irritation—or was that jealousy?

    Clarke felt a smirk tug at her lips. Oh, this was going to be fun.

    And so, she doubled down.

    She matched Niylah’s energy, playfully flirting back, turning up the charm just enough that from the outside, it might seem like she was actually interested.

    Even Niylah thought she was making progress.

    Until she wasn’t.

    As they wrapped up their game, Clarke leaned in close to Niylah, dropping her voice just enough that only she could hear.

    “You’re fun, Niylah, and really sweet,” Clarke said smoothly. “But the truth is…” She tilted her head slightly, her eyes flicking toward the bar before meeting Niylah’s gaze again. “I’ve already got my sights set on someone. And I think I’m very close to catching her.”

    Niylah blinked, her playful confidence giving way to realization.

    Following Clarke’s glance, she turned and found Lexa—arms folded, eyes sharp, jaw tight.

    Niylah exhaled through her nose and huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Well, I can’t compete with that.”

    Clarke grinned, tipping her head. “Good game, though.”

    Niylah chuckled and shook her head before stepping away, heading back to the bar.

    Lexa was waiting.

    Niylah set her empty bottle down on the counter. “Can I get another one?” she asked.

    Lexa grabbed a fresh one, popped the cap off with more force than necessary, and slid it to her.

    Niylah caught the movement, amused. “Easy on the heat, hot stuff.” She smirked, taking the bottle. “Your girl’s not so easy to shake, even with this fine specimen right here.” She gestured to herself with a grin.

    Lexa exhaled slowly through her nose, watching as Niylah took a sip of her drink.

    Yes, she could admit it—Niylah was attractive. Objectively, she had all the qualities that could turn heads. And that was exactly why it scared her.

    Because what if Clarke stopped trying with her? What if Clarke decided she was done chasing and turned to someone else?

    Not that Lexa would ever admit that. No way in hell.

---

    Clarke ran a hand through her hair, feeling the lingering warmth of the last game and the familiar buzz of adrenaline from competition. She was thirsty—for something cold, and maybe something a little stronger.

    She made her way to the bar and slid onto one of the stools, resting her elbows on the counter. Directly in front of her, Lexa stood behind the bar, her gaze distant, her lips pressed into a frown.

    Clarke tilted her head, studying her. That frown was cute. Too cute.

    So, she leaned forward, reaching out, and gently pressed her pointer finger against the little crease between Lexa’s brows—firm but soft.

    Lexa blinked, startled out of whatever overthinking spiral she had been in.

    “What’s got you thinking so hard, hotstuff?” Clarke murmured, her voice coming out raspier and deeper than usual from lack of hydration.

    The effect was immediate.

    Lexa’s breath hitched, her cheeks darkening as her fingers flexed at her sides. Her usual composure wavered for half a second, and Clarke saw it—the brief moment when Lexa forgot how to function.

    And Clarke chuckled in victory.

    Lexa recovered quickly, clearing her throat and straightening her posture. “What do you want to drink?” she asked, her tone clipped—a little too sharp, a little too forced.

    Clarke raised a brow, seeing right through her. Oh, she’s flustered.

    Grinning, Clarke tapped her fingers against the counter. “Hmm… surprise me,” she said smoothly, watching Lexa intently.

    Lexa gave a curt nod before moving to grab a bottle, clearly trying to compose herself.

    But then—another interruption.

    A woman approached the bar, slipping into the seat next to Clarke. Her posture was casual but deliberate, the kind of practiced confidence that signaled one thing.

    Clarke sighed internally. Oh, here we go.

    The woman leaned in slightly, directing her attention toward Lexa. “Hey there,” she purred. “What would you recommend?”

    A classic move. Basic. Predictable.

    Clarke, amused, glanced at Lexa, waiting to see how she’d handle it.

    Lexa, still caught in her own head, went into autopilot. She listed off a couple of drink options, her voice professional and neutral. But when the woman thanked her and turned to saunter back to her table, Lexa made a mistake.
    
    She let her gaze follow the woman for a second too long.

    Not because she was interested—Clarke knew that much. But because her mind was scattered.

    And Clarke?

    Clarke did not like it.

    The spark of territorial energy flared back up, and she decided—fine. If Lexa was going to be distracted, Clarke would fix it.

    She didn’t hesitate.

    “Lexa.”

    Her voice was strong—not commanding, but demanding attention.

    Lexa immediately turned, drawn by the undeniable pull in Clarke’s tone. She stepped closer, coming to stand in front of Clarke behind the bar.

    And before Lexa could say a word—

    Clarke grabbed her tie.

    Firm. A little rough. Confident.

    And then, with just enough force, she pulled.

    Lexa stumbled forward slightly, breath catching, eyes widening as air left her lungs.

    Clarke smirked, tilting her head. “Eyes on me, bartender.”

    Lexa swallowed hard.

    Clarke held her there, their faces close—closer than necessary.

    She didn’t let go of the tie, not yet.

    Her fingers toyed with the fabric, tugging slightly, teasing, testing.

    “You’re distracted,” Clarke murmured, voice lower, smoother—less goofy, but bold, confident, flirty.

    Lexa exhaled slowly, struggling to find words.

    Clarke leaned in just a fraction more, not breaking eye contact. “Don’t make me work so hard for your attention, hotstuff. You know I hate sharing.”

    Lexa’s pulse skyrocketed.

    Clarke smirked, finally releasing the tie, smoothing it down with deliberate slowness.

    “Good talk,” she said, her tone delightfully smug.

    Then, as if nothing had happened, she leaned back, tapping her fingers against the counter. “Now, about that drink…”

    Lexa, still recovering, clenched her jaw, exhaling sharply before turning to grab the nearest bottle.

    Clarke just grinned, watching her fumble.

    Victory, once again.

    But still, Lexa refused to lose.

    Not tonight. Not after Clarke had spent the entire evening dismantling her composure with effortless charm, bold flirting, and those damn smug little smirks.

    She needed to regain control—at least a little.

    Across the bar, Clarke sat comfortably, swirling her drink with an air of victory, watching Lexa like she owned her.

    And maybe she did.

    Lexa exhaled slowly, steeling herself. No. She wasn’t going down without a fight.

    So, with the last sliver of control she had left, Lexa leaned forward, resting her arms on the counter, eyes locked onto Clarke’s.

    “Having fun, Griffin?” Lexa murmured, her voice low—smooth. Calculated.

    Clarke’s eyes darkened just a fraction.

    Lexa smirked. Oh, she caught that.

    Clarke raised a brow, pretending to be unimpressed, but Lexa knew her too well now. She saw the shift in her posture, the way her fingers twitched against her glass.

    “I usually do, Woods,” Clarke answered, tilting her head. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

    Lexa hummed in acknowledgment, leaning in closer. “I do. Which is why I think you’re enjoying this a little too much.”

    Clarke bit her lip, eyes flickering between Lexa’s mouth and her eyes.

    Lexa grinned. She had her. Finally.

    But before she could push further, a loud groan interrupted them.

    “Oh my God, make it stop!”

    Lexa turned her head just in time to see Raven dramatically throwing her head back against the bar.

    “This tension is physically electrocuting me,” Raven complained loudly to Anya, gesturing wildly at Clarke and Lexa. “Do you two have any idea how painful it is to be within a five-foot radius of whatever the hell this is?”

    Anya snorted into her drink. “Finally. Someone said it.”

    On the other side of the table, Octavia, now comfortably perched on Echo’s lap, nodded along. “Even we weren’t that bad.”

    Clarke and Lexa both turned their heads toward her at the same time, brows raised in disbelief.

    “Oh, that’s rich coming from you, Blake,” Clarke shot back.

    Raven folded her arms, nodding. “Yeah, we were all there, Octavia. We lived through it.”

    Anya smirked. “Pretty sure I still have battle scars from the sexual frustration you and Echo inflicted on us before you two finally got together.”

    Lexa, still blushing, nodded in agreement. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much tension in my life.”

    Octavia just shrugged.

    And then, to prove a point, she turned her head and kissed Echo soundly on the lips, slow and deep.

    Echo, smug as ever, grinned against her lips before pulling away, looking straight at Clarke, Lexa, and the rest of their stunned friends.

    “I don’t see the problem,” Echo said, smirking.

    Lexa covered her face.

    Clarke, meanwhile, just laughed, shaking her head.

   -- 

    The game was over.

    Lexa tried one last time, one last round of teasing, but Clarke let her have it—let her have the last word.

    And yet, even as Lexa sat back, feeling like she had at least evened the score, a truth settled into her chest.

    She lost.

    Or, at the very least, it was a draw.

    But she wasn’t frustrated about it.

    Because now that Clarke had herself together—now that she knew Lexa’s true feelings— Clarke had been absolutely relentless tonight.

    Despite that, Lexa wasn’t one to admit defeat. 

    Even if Clarke had been bold, smug, and so damn confident, pulling Lexa’s tie like she had every right to, whispering things that made Lexa’s pulse stutter, and looking at her like she was already hers.

    Even if Clarke had let Lexa have the last word—Lexa knew better.

    Which was why, before Clarke could bask in her supposed victory, Lexa leaned in one last time.

    Slow. Deliberate.

    She let the bar fade away, let their friends’ teasing fade into the background.

    It was just Clarke.

    Just the challenge in her eyes, the slight tilt of her lips, the way she looked at Lexa like she was waiting.

    Lexa exhaled, voice dropping into something softer—something meant just for Clarke.

    “You think you’ve won, don’t you?” Lexa murmured.

    Clarke smirked, fingers wrapping around her glass. “Lex, I don’t think. I know.”

    Lexa hummed, tilting her head just a little. “Funny.”

    Clarke’s brow lifted. “What’s funny?”

    Lexa let the moment stretch, let Clarke feel the anticipation curl between them.

    Then, with a slow, easy smirk, she whispered—

    “Because you still haven’t kissed me.”

    Checkmate.

    Clarke’s breath hitched.

    Lexa saw it. Felt it.

    That fraction of a second where Clarke faltered, where her fingers tightened around her drink, where she realized Lexa was right.

    It was a perfect play. A moment where Lexa took back control, where she left Clarke reeling for once.

    And then—Clarke grinned.

    She leaned in, her voice low, amused, dangerous.

    “You’re right,” Clarke admitted, tapping a single finger against the bar. “I haven’t.”

    Lexa swallowed.

    Clarke’s gaze dropped to her lips. Just for a second.

    Just enough for Lexa’s breath to catch.

    Clarke let it linger—let Lexa wait, let her hope—before she leaned back with a lazy smirk.

    “Well,” Clarke said, standing from her seat, knowing full well what she was doing. “Goodnight, Lexa.”

    Lexa blinked.

    What—

    Clarke turned on her heel and walked away, head held high, victorious.

    And that was the moment Lexa knew.

    She lost. Again.

    She had played the game. She had made her move.

    And Clarke had still beaten her.

    Lexa exhaled sharply, shaking her head.

    Across the bar, Raven cackled. “Damn. That was brutal.” she said and high-fived a laughing Octavia, Echo was shaking her head in amusement.

    Anya clapped Lexa on the shoulder. “Welcome to the rest of your life, little sister.”

    Lexa groaned. Yep, she was so screwed.

---

    A few  days later, Lexa found herself in an unexpected position.

    Her publisher’s editor had requested something unexpected for her novel—illustrations. Specifically, for some of the more intimate scenes.

    It had been an offhand suggestion at first, but then the editor made it clear that it was a necessity. And that’s when Lexa remembered Clarke—the talented artist who could bring the scenes to life in ways Lexa never could.

    So, Lexa asked.

    “Hey, I need your help with something. Could you do some drawings for my novel? Just a few scenes. I swear it’s not as weird as it sounds.”

    Clarke immediately agreed. She had the week off, and besides, she was more than happy to help.

---

    The apartment was quiet. Lexa was sipping iced coffee, trying to focus on her book, but her mind kept wandering to Clarke. It was impossible not to, especially with Clarke sitting on the couch, flipping through the manuscript before starting on the drawings.

    Clarke was completely absorbed in her task, her pencil moving swiftly over the paper. Her concentration was impressive. Lexa found herself watching the way Clarke worked, the ease with which she captured the scenes in vivid detail.

    But then Lexa glanced down.

    The first of the six scenes Clarke was drawing—the bedroom scene from her novel—was far more vivid than Lexa had expected. She froze for a moment, staring at the image of two figures entwined, caught in an intimate embrace. The features of the two figures suspiciously resembled them, if she concentrated enough, but not straying too far from the characters' descriptions in her story.

    Lexa blinked, trying to shake off the surprising reaction. She hadn’t prepared for this—Clarke’s work was intense, detailed, and real.

    Just why she decided to draw that scene first, and here? Damn it, woman! 

    Trying to hide the heat rising in her cheeks, Lexa coughed lightly, stepping back. “I… didn’t realize you’d go so into detail.”

    Clarke, not missing a beat, looked up with a smirk. “What? Don’t tell me you’re shy now, Woods. You wrote this scene, in a very detailed description if I may add.”

    “I’m not shy,” Lexa muttered, trying to regain her composure. “Just didn’t expect you to be so… detailed.”

    Clarke raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in her eye. “What, you mean you didn’t expect me to draw you like that?”

    Lexa’s heart skipped a beat, and she tried to brush it off. “You know what I mean. It’s just…”

    Clarke leaned forward, her smirk widening. “Just what? Come on, Lexa, tell me. You’ve got a little thing for me, don’t you?”

    Lexa shot her a look, shaking her head, trying to maintain her cool. But the teasing in Clarke’s voice made her pulse race. “I—I just—“

    Before Lexa could finish, Clarke moved closer. She was suddenly right in front of Lexa, close enough for their knees to touch. Lexa’s breath hitched slightly, her mind whirling. Clarke had that effect on her.

    Clarke’s gaze dropped to Lexa’s lips, and for a moment, Lexa swore she saw something in her eyes. She wanted to pull away, to maintain some distance, but she couldn’t. Her body refused.

    Clarke's hands were on the back of the couch on either side of Lexa's head, leaning even closer, she was practically on Lexa's lap now and Lexa could feel the doctor's hot breaths on her lips, and Clarke's perfume invaded her sense.

    Clarke’s voice was soft, almost a whisper. “I can tell you’re not as unaffected as you like to pretend.”

    And before Lexa could respond, Clarke kissed her.

    It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t wild. It was slow and deliberate, a kiss that deepened as soon as it started. Clarke took her time, allowing Lexa to process what was happening, but not giving her much time to think.

    Lexa didn’t pull away. She didn’t try to stop it. She surrendered, letting Clarke take the lead.

    In that moment, Lexa felt herself breaking down the walls she had carefully built. Clarke was confident in a way that Lexa had never seen before—and it made her feel alive in a way she hadn’t expected.

    As their lips parted, Lexa’s mind raced. Her thoughts were chaotic, but one thing was clear: Clarke was intoxicating when she was confident.

    And for the first time, Lexa wondered just how far Clarke would take this… how far they would go.