The PG-13 Kiss

 

“Oh, god. I’m so sorry. This was not the plan. I shouldn’t have drunkenly confessed all that. And I’m not even that drunk. Fuck. The words, the tears. You must think I’m a lunatic. Lexa, please, can we just forget that this-”

 

Lexa heard enough. She quickly leaned forward and pressed her lips to Clarke’s, silencing whatever pointless apology was on her lips. Clarke froze, and Lexa internally panicked that perhaps she should not have been so drunkenly bold.

 

But just as she was about to pull back and spew some half thought out apology of her own, Clarke leaned into her, and her lips began to slide perfectly against her own. Lexa tangled her fingers in Clarke’s honey blonde hair and gently scraped her nails against her scalp.

 

Clarke’s accompanying gasp was like an electric shock to her system. Lexa grabbed the outside of Clarke’s thigh and encouraged her into her lap. Clarke eagerly took the suggestion, and suddenly, Lexa’s lap was full and warm with the most delicious weight settled on her thighs.

 

She couldn’t help her hands roaming, the alcohol making her brave and audacious, as she kissed Clarke with tipsy fervor. Though her inhibitions were significantly lowered, Lexa kept the makeout to a suitable PG-13. Her hands never wandered under fabric, though her fingers were practically sparking, so very anxious to run along smooth skin. Her tongue teased Clarke’s in a coy dance, but neither one went overboard, just content to revel in all the first kiss butterflies together.