The Handshake

 

Lexa’s eyes darted from longing blue eyes down to perfectly pink lips and back again. Clarke’s features were soft and expectant, and Lexa’s body began its slow and completely involuntary lean forwards. Clarke mirrored her, prepared to meet her halfway when Lexa’s brain abruptly caught up to her heart.

 

She stopped suddenly, snapping back in the process, and the movement nearly had her losing her balance. Lexa cleared her throat to mask the embarrassment creeping from her chest to her cheeks. She straightened her back and squared her shoulders with a deep sigh.

 

The thought of the almost kiss sent a wave of shivers through her entire body, and she fought the urge to wrap her arms protectively around her torso.

 

Lexa glanced up, and the painfully obvious look of disappointment disappeared behind tender blue eyes before she could comment on it. Lexa took a small step backwards and held out her hand. “Well, goodnight, Clarke,” she smiled.

 

She began to internally panic as Clarke just stared at her outstretched arm like it was the vilest thing she’d ever laid her eyes on. Lexa was about to retrieve that traitorous hand when a warm palm pressed against her own, and firm fingers wrapped her hand in a strong grasp. Too strong.

 

Lexa stumbled forward as Clarke tugged on the iron grip their hands were currently locked in, but Lexa didn’t have the wherewithal to complain because lips were suddenly on her own. Clarke’s mouth pressed harder against hers, and Lexa’s body helplessly relaxed as Clarke released her hand and tenderly held her cheek instead.