The Drunken Confession
Lexa slowed her movements, and when she pulled back, she simply placed a single kiss to each corner of Clarke’s kiss-swollen lips. Lexa gazed into beautifully shocked, deep blue eyes, and she didn’t think a softer smile could ever be pulled from her lips. Clarke just stared at her for a minute before she opened her mouth.
“Hi.”
The single word came out breathy and needy and full of joy and wonder, and Lexa just smiled dumbly and responded with her own, “Hi, back.”
Clarke chuckled and leaned close to press her head to Lexa’s. Lexa reflexively wrapped her arms around Clarke’s middle and held her close.
“So, I have my own drunken confession,” Lexa whispered.
Clarke pulled her body back just enough to look into her eyes, urging her to continue without words. She traced her finger from her temple down to her lips, and Lexa nearly forgot what she was supposed to be confessing, because Clarke drew her finger along her bottom lip and all Lexa wanted to do was suck that very finger into her mouth and maybe playfully nibble on the pad and drive Clarke wild with want. And dammit, Lexa really needed to focus because Clarke had just confessed her love, and it was damn time she did the same.
“I’m…” Lexa started but had to take a steadying breath to focus her mind on her words and not on the way Clarke’s lips still glistened, or how she could still taste the strawberry chapstick on her tongue, or how Clarke was still wonderfully settled in her lap. “I like you.”
“Well, that’s good considering you just had your tongue in my mouth,” Clarke chuckled.
Lexa didn’t let Clarke’s adorably distracting giggle deter her. She forcefully shook her head. “No, I like you, Clarke. I’ve liked you for three years. You’re just so… so… so you. And it’s absolutely brilliant.”
“You lose a lot of your eloquence when you’ve had alcohol.”
“Look who’s talking, Ms. Queen of the Run-on Sentence. I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone speak with such little regard to proper syntax before.”
Clarke scoffed and put her hand dramatically on her chest, and Lexa couldn’t help but follow the movement with her eyes, only pulling them from her chest when Clarke began to speak. “I take it back. Alcohol just makes you snarky.”
“I’m supposed to be confessing my love for you here. Would you kindly allow me that privilege?”
“By all means, please continue,” Clarke gestured dramatically with her hands, and Lexa leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to her lips because she could, and Clarke was ridiculously cute.
She pulled back with what she knew was a dopey little smile. “I think I fell in love with you the first time I saw you out on the pitch. You moved with such effortless ease; it was beautiful. What?”
“It’s so fucking sexy when you use soccer terms.”
Lexa scrunched her eyebrows, trying to remember what term she used. But Clarke was already so good at reading her, she just chuckled before clarifying. “Pitch. You said pitch. Most people just call it a field.”
“I’ll remember that.”
Clarke tucked a few strands of hair behind Lexa’s ear and let her fingers trail aimlessly down her cheek. Lexa leaned into the touch, humming contentedly.
“Hey, Clarke,” Lexa murmured. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, your blue boots match your eyes. And the way you command the back four, it’s a master class in proper technique. You almost never lose your mark, every challenge is executed with precision, your touch is second to none, and I’ve never seen anyone serve long balls quite like you do. I know you don’t really get to play up top very often, but when you do, the way you strike the ball… it’s the highlight of every match. Oh, and did I mention that seeing you in your kit really turns me on?”
Lexa let the smirk fly as she was very pleased with her proper use of several soccer terms.
“Are you trying to kill me here?” Clarke groaned, throwing her head back in dramatic fashion.
Lexa caught her overexaggerated gesture and pulled her back into her lap. “That would be very counterproductive seeing as how I finally told you how I felt.”
Clarke wrapped her arms around Lexa’s neck, and the warmth and comfort that came from just being held was everything. “I think I told you how I felt,” Clarke argued.
“We both did.” Lexa’s head rested against Clarke’s forehead, their breath mixing with every exhale. Lexa’s eyes fluttered shut and she sat there, holding Clarke in her lap, wondering how in the hell her night turned out so wonderfully. What choices did she make to lead her here? Who did she have to thank for getting her to this moment, with this woman in her arms?
