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You watch shimmering tendrils of heat rise off the pavement, dancing slowly up into the brilliant blue stretch that is the afternoon sky. The sun beats down unmercifully on all whom its fiery gaze beholds, and you make sure to scowl your displeasure at the yellow tyrant, reminding it that you are not afraid.
“You know you’re going to go blind if you keep glaring at the sun like that.”
You turn said glare on your sister who to your absolute disgust, is completely unaffected, Anya’s grin only growing wider as she takes in the displeasure written all over your face.
“why can’t you just slouch somewhere and pout like a normal person Lexa.”
You fight down the unwanted surge of amusement at that, instead rolling your eyes and turning away from Anya.
Why can’t you just slouch somewhere and pout like a normal person? Because even thinking of moving an inch in this heat is unbearable.
You have been sitting for the past half hour behind a beach table, with two ice chests on one side, meant to assist whoever wanted with finding relief from the heat and only periodically stealing small pieces of ice from the now, mostly liquid interior, sliding them over your face, down your neck, hell, even into your shirt and even with that you feel like you are slowly being roasted alive. More strongly than you could have ever imagined, you sympathise with rotisserie chickens everywhere. But at least they had the mercy of being dead first. You are very much alive and unfortunately you have the pounding headache to prove it.
What was supposed to be a small get together of your friend group: Raven, Anya, Octavia, Lincoln Clarke, Monty, Jasper and Wells at the Blake’s house for a chill afternoon, quite literally – because why have the best AC cooling system in the town if your friends couldn’t come and mooch off of you during one of the hottest days of the hottest weeks in the entire damn year? – had turned into a nightmare when their entire system just…fizzled out and died. You actually heard a loud groan coming from one of the standing AC’s in the living room before it gave up the ghost to varying yells of surprise, disbelief and despair.
The Blake’s front lawn quickly became a makeshift beach front, a series of beach umbrella’s, chairs, mats etc. set up in an attempt to shield the teenagers from the sun as much as possible while getting some much needed fresh air. What they hadn’t counted on was that there was no fresh air to be had; even the wind seemed to have been vaporized in this heatwave and the air was somehow both dry and humid, crawling into their lungs and settling heavily there, stealing moisture from them from the inside out. You look around at the sprinkling of teenagers sprawled all around, in various degrees of heat induced exhaustion or discomfort and feel a spark of sympathy flare in your chest.
“How’s Raven doing?” you ask Anya, turning your gaze back to her. Raven had elected to take a look at the cooling unit to see if she could figure out what had caused the problem. Monty immediately offered to help. Considering that was roughly two hours ago, you were rapidly running out of hope that this day would be saved, despite Raven’s frequent and very insistent claims that genius was a superpower.
Anya gives a soft huff of laughter, and then shakes her head with a smirk, reaching into the rapidly warming ice- chest in front of you.
“She’s about an inch away from hurling a wrench through one of those slick AC’s. Monty is maybe the only reason she hasn’t already but there’s only so much the kid can do. I actually came here to get her a drink before she ends up committing electronic murder. Or you know... just murder.”
She gives you a meaningful look and you chuckle because that sounds about right.
“We’ll miss Monty” you quip.
Anya grins at you, plays along "Right?"
Then she rolls her eyes, and you can’t help but marvel at the fondness and amusement softening your sister’s face without her knowledge.
She always gets this… look when she’s talking about Raven. You doubt she even realizes it happens, the way her entire face just…gentles. For a second, a pang of wistful longing shoots through your chest. It’s been a long time since you had anything like that, since Costia broke up with you and moved to the other side of the world for the star bound life of glitz and glamour she apparently wanted more than you. As terrifying as one part of you finds it, you’re pretty sure most of you would like to have that again. Preferably with a person who wouldn’t dump you, break your heart and then disappear to Hollywood.
You push the thought forcefully from your mind, not wanting to go down that familiar rabbit hole and settle on the more comfortable urge to tease Anya mercilessly instead.
Ah. Much better.
But you quickly abandon that idea with a defeated exhale, letting your body sink into itself as you sag against the table, letting it support most of your weight; It’s way too hot for the chokehold Anya would inevitably put you in.
“Oh God, when I said go mope I didn’t mean it literally. You look like a rag doll someone shook a few too many times too hard.”
Anya pokes your arm a few obnoxious times to drive home her point and you narrow your eyes at her and stick out your tongue, not caring that it makes you look like a six year old instead of the competent twenty-one year old young adult you are.
Anya laughs; a full-bellied laugh that has the corners of your mouth turning reluctantly up even as you press your lips together, trying to contain it. It’s hard to be upset around Anya, genuinely or otherwise. She has a way of mocking you right out of whatever self- pitying pit you’ve managed to dig for yourself. You come out of it looking so much like an arse, you can’t help but laugh, marveling at why you thought it would be a good idea to crawl into that pit in the first place.
“Here, have a drink and chill yu down Lex” she says, tossing one of the cool cans at you. You trade off scowling at her – because you’re pretty sure she’s taunting you, knowing full well that you can’t just cool down, because if you could cool down, you wouldn’t be out here in the blistering heat, doing the furthest thing from cooling down - in your childhood secret language no less - for pressing the thankfully still cool can against your forehead and sighing in relief.
“Besides” she continues after a moment, and her voice has this dangerously smug quality to it, the kind that raises the hairs at the back of your neck and sends goose-bumps down your arms; that demands you open your eyes to see if her expression is as dangerous as her voice seems, “I think I see something that’ll cheer you riiight up.”
Sure enough, Anya is looking at something over your shoulder and smirking her signature smirk, the one that just oozes imminent trouble; That smirk has preceded bar fights, stolen kisses and arm wrestling guys that were three times her size. You’ve seen her drive home with two Victoria secret models off of that smirk alone and every damn time it spells nothing good for you (because dammit they had asked for your number first!)
Sure enough, when you follow her line of sight, you nearly swallow your own tongue with how sharply you inhale.
It’s Clarke Griffin.
Clarke Griffin, in nothing but a clingy white tank top and dangerously short jean shorts, reclining on a beach chair and looking like she should be on the cover of a magazine.
You can’t help but stare, your eyes following the lines of Clarke’s body like they are magnets and she is made out of the purest metal; up one smooth tanned leg, down to strong, shapely thighs, up across the flat plane of her stomach, skipping over the mounds of Clarke’s undeniably well-endowed chest like the gentle-woman you are, a flush on your face that you staunchly refuse to acknowledge. Your eyes land on Clarke’s face and you feel a spark of amusement at the oversized shades sitting on her nose, covering what you know from experience are shockingly blue eyes. Clarke seems about as comfortable as anyone can be in such a monster of a heatwave and you can’t help but admire her composure. you also think it’s insanely attractive but that’s –
You’re trying not to think about that.
The only indication that Clarke is suffering just as much as the rest of you is the light sheen of sweat shining on her body.
You swallow hard against the sudden dryness in your mouth.
You should probably stop staring now; you're probably being embarrassingly obvious but, for the life of you, you just can’t tear your eyes away.
Anya's smirk is definitely back by now but for once, with your gaze fixed on the droplet of sweat that runs down the side of Clarke’s face you don’t give a damn.
You watch it trail down her flushed cheek, to the underside of a jaw that, it hazily occurs to you, would be lovely to kiss, down the graceful column of Clarke’s neck and down to –
You yelp loudly as a cool bottle is pressed against your heated skin, several degrees hotter after laying eyes on Clarke. You give Anya a glare that would shrivel a lesser woman but your sister just laughs and presses the bottle of what, you now realize is water, into your hands.
“Here, why don’t you give this to blondie and see if you can finally work up the courage to ask her for her number. Hell, maybe steal a sip of it as well, your thirst is showing.”
You scowl at Anya but with your cheeks blazing red, you doubt it has the desired effect. Sure, enough she just rolls her eyes at you and gives you a little push. “Go get your girl.”
“She is not my girl” is what you mean, to say. What comes out instead is a garbled rush of half- hearted grumbling. Anya’s laughter is full and rich and warm as she drags you up from your seat and gives you a much stronger push forward.
You let the momentum carry you, not really trying to stop it and when it fades, you straighten, contemplating the blonde lounging in front of you.
You’ve met Clarke of course. First, when Lincoln started dating Octavia, during the customary my-friend-is-dating-your-friend get- together that precedes the merging of friend groups everywhere, and again when Anya began dating Raven.
You haven’t exactly spoken more than three sentences to her but there’s always something between you when you meet; this spark that has your entire body tingling after any extended period of time in her presence. It’s in the way she brushes lightly against you as you pass each other in a hallway; the small smile she flashes you each time. It’s in the way she catches your eye across the room mid- laugh whenever one of your friends does or says something funny, like she wants to know if you found it funny too. It’s in the quiet way she looks at you when she thinks no one else is watching, like she’s trying to figure out what makes you tick. Or the way she holds eye contact with you when she catches you staring, smiles slow and bold like she wants you to know that she’s smiling just for you. Jesus there’s been something between you and Clarke Griffin ever since the moment you first met weeks ago and maybe Anya is right, maybe it’s time to woman up and finally figure out what.
How hard can it be anyway? You’ve spoken to countless beautiful women. (granted, in your opinion, none of them quite as beautiful as Clarke but… well that’s not the point.)
All you have to do is walk over, smile, hand her a bottle of water and strike up a conversation that somehow ends with her giving you her number or agreeing to go on a date with you. Piece of cake.
…
…
…
Okay, maybe not, but the point is that you are Heda Alexandria Woods, named after the great commanders of old, leaders of the lost city of the Trigadekru people. If you are going to do this, walk over there and open the Pandora’s box of something between you and Clarke, then by God you’re going to do it right.
With that in mind, you lift your chin, square your shoulders and make for Clarke with a confidence…
That dwindles down to almost nothing once you’re actually before her. Clarke turns shade covered eyes on you and your fingers involuntarily clench around the bottle in your hands, a wave of nerves suddenly crashing over you. Your stomach does an excited flip.
“Lexa” she says in greeting, sounding a little surprised and more than a little pleased, that warm smile you’ve come to associate with Clarke already spreading across her lips and making your knees weak. “what’s up?”
This is your moment; this is where you smirk lightly, and suavely extend the bottle of water in your hand in her direction. “I just thought you could use a drink” then Clarke smirks back at you and you casually insinuate yourself into a conversation with her that involves the exchange of phone numbers and morning coffee.
Heda knows this and yet you...hesitate.
It’s just for a second but it gives Clarke enough time to slide her shades up her forehead and it’s her eyes combined with her smile and you never really stood a chance. This isn’t a battle, it’s a damn war, fought on the multiple fronts of Clarke Griffin’s all round attractiveness and you’re being slaughtered with nothing but a look.
She slides up her shades to smile at you and you’re caught in a sea of cerulean blue so clear it reminds you of endless summer skies on days far cooler than this. Just looking into her eyes is a special kind of bliss.
You’re helpless in that gaze, lost in it and you only realize that you’ve stared too long when Clarke calls your name, a light tinge of confusion to her voice. “Lexa?”
Her voice snaps you out of it, hard, and now you’re panicking, your heart hammering in your chest in a mixture of nerves and embarrassment and Clarke.
You swallow thickly, trying to get some moisture back in the dessert that is your throat. You don’t succeed and you don’t trust your voice not to crack like some prepubescent male’s. Eventually you just thrust the bottle at her, without explanation and Clarke let’s out a surprised “oh”
“For me?” she asks, seeking clarification. You nod and you can feel the heat rising up your collar and seeping into your cheeks. Great. You’re blushing. Like an idiot. In front of Clarke griffin. Clarke Griffin. Because you’re giving her a bottle of water. A mercy killing wouldn’t be merciful enough. For the first time today, you hope the heat actually ends your fight.
“Oh,” Clarke says again, softer, her eyes moving from the bottle to you and you fight the urge to adjust the collar of the undershirt you've stripped down to. You’re pretty sure jets of steam would escape if you did.
“Because I thought you looked hot” you blurt out, feeling the urge to clarify, jittery under her quiet scrutiny.
A second later you process all the ways what you’ve just said can be taken as a really bad pick-up line and your gaze snaps to Clarke’s, your blush laying siege to your face. You desperately want to take the words back but it’s too late - Clarke’s eyebrows have shot up her face.
“N-no-“you stutter, actually freaking stutter in your rush to explain “not hot hot. not hot, just…just hot. Because we're in a heatwave and it's the hottest recorded summer in decades and it’s... it’s really…hot” you finish lamely.
Clarke arches an eyebrow at you, her mouth curving in amusement and god, that, that is definitely a smirk and definitely hot hot and dammit her eyes are really freaking blue.
“You don’t think I’m hot?” She tilts her head to the side, her eyebrows raised in invitation, a playful smirk on her lips but genuine curiosity in her eyes.
You break out in a cold sweat, droplets chasing the tingles rolling down your spine. “um, that seems like a trick question?”
She laughs. Really laughs, the kind of laughter that makes her body shake and blue eyes shine. The idea that anyone could - that you could somehow find her unattractive – it’s the craziest thing, you’ve ever heard.
“Is that a no?” Clarke asks you, still laughing a little.
It brings a smile to your face even as you shrug and mime zipping your lips. Because you're a dork, you also lock them and throw away the key.
You love the way she beams at you then, so bright and warm and –
“Here.” You, offer her the bottle again, your heart pounding. You should probably get out of Clarke’s immediate vicinity before she turns you into a giant Lexa shaped puddle.
Her smile turns affectionate as she rescues you from yourself, gently taking the bottle from your hands.
“Thank you for the water.” She says warmly, locking soft eyes with you. You sink into crystal clear oceans, sunshine reflecting off jewel- depths. It's probably too late to save yourself because you’re melting at the genuine gratitude radiating from her and you can’t even care about the cringe- inducing ass you’ve made of yourself in the past five minutes.
“You’re welcome Clarke” you murmur and Clarke takes a second to smile at you before cracking open the bottle and taking a deep drink.
You stand a little awkwardly, not knowing if this is your queue to leave but not wanting your time with Clarke to end quite yet. Your eyes catch on the condensation glinting on the bottle, absently tracking it as you wait for Clarke to finish so you can say goodbye without interrupting her.
Droplets run down her arm, slip down her neck, mixing with the light sheen of sweat there in a way that makes your mouth run dry. It barely takes any imagination to know what Clarke would taste like if you were to put your mouth on her; follow the lines of water down to the little hollow at the base of her throat, the clean, fresh taste of the water mixed with the light salty tang of Clarke’s sweat. You swallow hard, resisting the urge to shift your weight so you can press your legs together.
You’re fighting to take your eyes off Clarke, feeling just a little too much like a perv even though that wasn’t your intention when Clarke does something that shocks you completely.
With a small sigh she tips the last of the bottle over her face. You can’t help the slight gasp that escapes you.
For the second time that day, you find yourself following a trail straight to Clarke’s cleavage. There was enough left in the bottle that it wet’s the top half of her tank top in places, streams of water running from Clarke’s face to her chest. The fabric clings to her generous curves, the black of Clarke’s bra underneath easier to discern and the light outline of her nipples just barely visible. The effect it has on you is immediate, like throwing fuel on a roaring fire. you snap your eyes up with a strangled sound only to have them fixate on Clarke’s mouth – soft and pink and wet and –
“Lexa!”
You startle, coming abruptly back to yourself to find an evidently amused Clarke, patting at her face and neck with a towel she’d pulled from seemingly nowhere. Clarke must have been calling your name for quite some time if the laughter dancing in her eyes is any indication.
And that’s somehow more embarrassing than everything that’s happened until now. Your entire body is burning, in the best and worst ways and you decide this is just as good a time as any to make your escape before you somehow manage to make an even bigger ass out of yourself than you have already.
You’re going to kill Anya.
“Alright, well, uh, I just wanted to give you that, and now I have, so I should probably get going.”
“Back to the ice box?” Clarke frowns, looking strangely disappointed. Or maybe it’s all the heat, both inside your body and out, maybe its finally started messing with your brain.
You both glance to the stand at the same time, a flutter of excitement in the pit of your stomach that Clarke had noticed where you were standing even before you came over.
With just Anya slouched against the table, staring unashamedly in your direction, you might add, it looks pitifully unproductive. Tumble weeds might as well start rolling in front of it. Anya wiggles her fingers at you in an insolent wave, smirk already reappearing, and you renew your vow to make. her. pay. For now though, your escape.
“Uh yeah. Lot’s to do, overheated lives to save etc. etc.” You’re inching away as you babble, Clarke’s frown turning into an amused press of her lips as she watches you. “I’ll see you Clarke.” You add, more genuinely, your voice going soft without your permission. You actually manage to make eye contact and hold it this time, without turning into a mesmerized idiot. Just that small victory is enough to put some steel back in your spine, some dignity in the way you hold yourself.
Your gazes stay connected as her smile grows slightly. “See you Lex.” You grin at the nickname, liking it a whole lot more than you probably should coming from Clarke's mouth and you take that as your queue to turn around, only to turn back, remembering something.
“Oh and, just so you know,” you pause for dramatic effect, to really make sure she’s listening to you, that this one will count. "I think you’re hotter than the sun. And we’re in the heatwave to end all heatwaves Clarke.”
She bursts into laughter, surprised, flattered and hugely amused and you watch with a smile as her cheeks flush pink. Just the fact that you’re the cause turns your smile into a grin, your heart swelling with warmth. With a little wave, you again turn to leave.
Before you’ve made it more than a step away, a warm hand wraps around your wrist, tugging you gently around. You obey the pull mindlessly, sparks jumping from the point of contact with your skin. Clarke tugs you down and you let her, everything short-circuiting until her soft lips land on your cheek. The following jolt of electricity that rips through you restarts everything, your entire circulatory system working twice as hard as before.
You turn you head to look at her with wide eyes, your mouth falling open just a bit. This close, you can see little flecks of gold in the sea of Clarke’s eyes, can see the way her pupils have dilated that much more, can feel her breaths washing warm and inviting over your lips. You swallow, hard, and watch Clarke’s gaze drop to your mouth, follow the movement of your throat before returning to your eyes.
“That was for the water.” she murmurs, voice low and pleasing; stroked velvet with a hint of just enough husk to make your entire body weak. You swallow again, your eyes flickering to her lips without your permission.
“You’re welcome Clarke.” You croak and nope, unlike Clarke, there is no subtlety there at all. It’s all too clear how Clarke affects you and if the warm glint to her eyes is any indication, Clarke knows it.
“This is for calling me hot.” She murmurs, right before she leans in again, and plants those soft lips on yours.
You think you make a sound, an embarrassing little squeak of surprised pleasure. It fades into insignificance as Clarke lets her lips linger, as a low sound of appreciation slips from you, a sound that has Clarke sighing softly and pressing closer, sliding her fingers into your hair while your eyes drift closed and your heart tries its best to float its way right out of your chest.
When she finally pulls away, you’re more than a little lightheaded; dizzy in all the best ways. It seems like as good a time as any to put yourself out there.
“Maybe we can go get some coffee sometime.” You offer, dazed and barely holding back the grin that wants to break over your entire face.
Clarke suffers no such qualms and beams at you, her eyes retaining that warmth that sends little shivers down your spine whenever she looks at you.
“I’d love that.” she whispers before pressing a final, brief kiss to your lips.
You give her what you already know is a dopey smile, lopsided and happy before you shakily stand and do your best to walk in a straight line without stumbling.
You’re going to freaking kiss Anya.
Or maybe, you know, just not kill her.
You head over to your sister with flaming cheeks, your entire body warm all over. Anya takes one look at you and begins grinning like the Cheshire cat.
“Not. A. word.” You warn her sternly, even more heat rushing to your face despite yourself.
Anya isn’t at all intimidated by your tone, or the warning finger you have pointed in her direction, if her laughter is any indication but instead of teasing you mercilessly, she gives you a casual shrug, grin still wide and then slings an arm over your shoulder, affectionately ruffling your hair the way she used to when you were kids as you bend a little beneath her weight.
“Atta girl.” She tells you, voice warm and proud. A different kind of warmth sweeps through you, filling your heart until you think it might burst.
Still, you have a reputation to maintain. “Ahn, get off me,” you grumble half-heartedly, not actually making any move to pull away from her until Anya does, knocking her forehead affectionately against yours before stepping away.
You straighten, unable to control the grin spreading on your face and Anya gives you a wink as you take your previous place beside her.
You can’t help sneaking a glance at Clarke, and what you find sends a shocked thrill through your entire system.
Sapphire blue eyes are already on you, the blonde’s gaze unashamedly tracking your every movement. Your heart skips a beat in your chest, and then starts racing like a mad thing as if to make up for it. Clarke must know she’s been caught staring but she doesn’t seem to care as she gives you a lazy smirk, eyes obviously running over your body.
Then she mouths something.
I think you're a dude?
Wait. what?
Clarke laughs, rolling her eyes. Mouths it again, slower.
"I think you're hot too."
Oh.
Oh.
Clarke winks at you and it’s the straw that breaks your proverbial back. Your body gives up on moderating your reactions to Clarke Griffin with a full, head to toe flush and suddenly you’re on fire under the weight of that appreciative blue eyed gaze.
“That’s it, I can’t take any more, that’s enough for one day.” You blurt out, throwing your hands in the air in defeat before you begin taking your apparently ogle worthy body and flaming cheeks back inside the house.
“Hey, where are you going?” Anya asks, confused.
“To take a cold shower!” you yell back, adding, “or maybe four or five of them,” under your breath.
You feel more than see Anya glance back at the blonde, who’s gaze you can still feel searing into your back.
When she realizes the cause of your overheating your sister's laughter rings out, following you all the way inside the house.
At the door, you risk one more glance back, catching Clarke with a small, fond smile tucked into the corners of her mouth, eyes sparkling when they meet yours. As your mouth tips into a responding smile, you can’t quite bring yourself to mind Anya's braying so much.
You guess there are worse things in life than being too hot.