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Clarke wasn’t a naturally competitive person. Unlike Bellamy or Octavia, or even Raven, the chances of her drunkenly challenging a random stranger to a game of pool or an arm wrestling match were slim to none. The chances of her challenging Lexa Woods to a game of pool or an arm wrestling match, though, were much better. There was just something about the woman’s infuriatingly calm composure that made her want to do whatever she could to break it. The “something” was probably the infuriating-ness. Unfortunately, Clarke had already attempted the latter after 7 shots and lost miserably, but tonight, she’d only had 3 shots and was about to attempt the former.
Friday night pilgrimages to the cheapest bar near campus, the one that carefully toed the line between charmingly run-down and genuinely sketchy, were par for the course by now. Raven had found it in the second semester of their junior year, deciding that now that they were all legal, they should do some proper drinking in a bar, instead of just frequenting frat parties like cliche college students. Given its proximity to campus, it was inevitable that other college students would have the same idea. It was just unfortunate that Lexa Woods and her friends in particular were also regulars at this bar, when there were so many others in the area to choose from. If either of them were a bit less stubborn, they would’ve just gone to another bar, one that was a little more charming or a little more sketchy, but each preferred the balance that this bar struck and didn’t want to be the one to give it up.
They were all well-into their senior year by now, so the routine was well-established. Each group had their side of the bar, the rest of the regulars filling in between them, ignorant of or at least indifferent to their little rivalry. It was certainly cliché, and sober Clarke liked to pretend she didn’t care about them that much, but drunk Clarke really leaned into it. Apparently, she’d once monologued about how they were like the Greasers and the Socs. She had no memory of the event, but she idly wondered which group drunk Clarke had thought was which. Clarke’s family had money, which probably made her a Soc, but Murphy’s hair always looked pretty greasy, intentionally or not. There was probably a point to be made here about college years and staying gold, but Clarke had never been much of a poetry fan, drunk or otherwise.
Most nights, they kept to their sides and had a good time amongst themselves. But then Octavia had to go and start dating Lexa’s friend Lincoln, and it was like Ponyboy and Cherry — sooner or later, there was going to be a rumble. Clarke didn’t remember that book well enough to know if they’d actually dated or how their relationship had ended, but it seemed like Lincoln and Octavia unfortunately were cute together, with his calm balancing out her chaos, so the relationship seemed likely to last. To be fair, though, it was actually only Lexa and Clarke who hated each other, while their respective friends just rolled their eyes and drank their cheap beers, so it wasn’t exactly a star-crossed lovers situation.
The rivalry went back to freshman year, when they’d unfortunately been placed in the same first year seminar class, and had every single class discussion disagreeing on every issue under the sun until their teacher politely asked them to let the other students speak for once. Sometimes, Clarke didn’t even have a strong opinion on the topic until Lexa expressed her own, and she couldn’t help but disagree. She was just such a know-it-all, and everyone else just went along with it — someone had to take her down a few pegs, and Clarke was more than happy to do the world the service. It was so satisfying to back her into a corner, with the way her face got all red and the way her hands fisted around the belt loops of her insanely tight jeans in an attempt to hide the way her hands fidgeted when she got flustered. A metaphorical corner, that is. A corner where Lexa realized she had been out-argued and there was no dignified way out. Clarke certainly never had any thoughts about Lexa pressed into a physical corner.
After their first semester of college, they’d had one more gen ed together, but given their wildly different majors, their school schedules didn’t overlap after that. So instead, their arguing took place whenever they saw each other outside of class, which was surprisingly often, given how big their school was. They certainly weren’t trying to seek each other out in the library or the café or their frat party of the week.
The thing was, Clarke’s assertion about the rival gangs might have been a bit hyperbolic. They sat on opposite sides of the bar, but that was just because their friends didn’t want to listen to them argue all night. Their friends were, unfortunately, sort of friends with each other. So they said hi when they saw each other at the library and hung out at the café together and invited each other to the same frat parties, and Clarke and Lexa were unfortunately also there. By now, their friends had given up on trying to get them to resolve their apparently “childish” feud, and just tried to keep them physically separated when they all hung out together to avoid having to put up with all of their constant arguing. Raven had no qualms about going to chat with Anya, Bellamy didn’t feel any guilt about flirting with Echo for months with only a little progress, and Murphy and Emori had been playing drinking games and causing chaos together since sophomore year.
However, ever since Lincoln and Octavia had started dating, the drunk arguments between Clarke and Lexa had increased significantly. This was because they were nauseatingly in love, and the only thing Clarke and Lexa had in common was that they didn’t have the stomach to deal with them. So if the couple was hanging out more towards Clarke’s side of the bar, she had no choice but to go closer to Lexa’s to avoid them, and vice versa. And once they were in proximity of each other, particularly when they were drunk, there was absolutely no stopping them.
Which brings this all back to tonight. They had been having a perfectly reasonable argument about if raw cookie dough was a good snack (“You’re a pre-med student, Clarke, you know exactly why it isn’t safe!” “I ate an entire tub during finals week last year and I was fine!”), when Clarke had the brilliant idea of using a game of pool to settle the dispute. And then Lexa picked up a pool cue and spun it with practice ease, and Clarke realized she’d fucked up. She was hoping Lexa’s own 4 shots would cripple her coordination and make up for the fact that Clarke had played pool all of twice and lost miserably to Raven both times, but it seemed like she was out of luck. But she was far too stubborn to accept defeat, despite Lexa’s clear skill at the game, so she was going to have to play dirty. Luckily, Clarke was quite skilled at that.
“What do you say we make things more interesting?” Clarke said, letting her voice intentionally drop into something more in the realm of seduction than arguing. “If you win, I’ll do whatever you want for a night. But if I win, you have to do whatever I want.”
Lexa made a strangled sound that Clarke took immense pleasure in.
“You know, like avoid coming to my bar, or come so you can buy me drinks and tell me I’m right instead of arguing with me,” Clarke clarified, her tone innocent, her face anything but. Lexa cleared her throat, clamping her hanging jaw shut, trying to regain composure.
“I’ve seen you play pool, Clarke. We both know you can’t beat me.”
“Wanna bet?” Lexa narrowed her eyes in response to Clarke’s seemingly unearned confidence.
“You’re on.”
Lexa set up the triangle of balls (Did that have a special name? Clarke had no idea) with practiced efficiency, while Clarke tried her best to not look intimidated. She picked out her own pool cue, rubbing the end with the provided chalk like she’d seen Raven do, hoping she looked more dignified than she felt. Lexa pressed her lips together to hide a smile.
“Would you like to break?”
“Sure,” Clarke said, with more confidence than she felt. She hit the cue ball at the assembled triangle as hard as she could, but any aura of confidence that she managed to muster up was quickly undercut by the cue ball rolling unceremoniously into one of the pockets. That had not been part of the plan. Lexa was smiling smugly, even more certain of her victory than before, and suddenly, the beginnings of a plan better than “distract her” was forming in Clarke’s mind.
Neither spoke as the game went on, both too focused on what they were doing. Lexa was focused on winning as quickly as possible, while Clarke was focused on making sure Lexa lost. She let her quickly pocket 3 striped balls, before deliberately walking into Lexa’s eyeline and unzipping her leather jacket to reveal the tight shirt she had on underneath. It was one of Clarke’s favorite outfits for going out: knee high heeled black boots paired with a leather jacket that covered the waistband of a short skirt that she knew gave the impression of being a dress when the jacket was zipped up, only for her to reveal a crop top that left nothing to the imagination. It had the intended effect.
Clarke managed to pocket one solid ball before missing the next, but Lexa was only able to get one in as well, too busy watching Clarke slowly take her jacket dully off, pushing her chest out and rolling her shoulders far more dramatically than was necessary, so she was pretty sure she won that round. She was wondering if a classic bend and snap would be stooping too low (pun not intended) when she spotted the 8 ball, and figured out the perfect way to end this. It was a very risky move, but the payoff would absolutely be worth it.
Walking over to where it was situated with no small amount of hip swinging, Clarke intentionally brushed by Lexa and heard her swallow audibly. With a mask of perfect innocence, she lined up her shot and hit the cue ball with the 8 ball. It rolled to a stop just before the pocket, and Clarke had to bite her tongue hard to contain a celebratory shout and instead school her face into one of disappointment.
Dangerously cocky now, Lexa went about hitting the rest of her striped balls in. After all, how could someone who thought the 8 ball was one of the solids she needed to get in possibly win a game of pool? Clarke had actually lost her first game of pool this exact way, but after being laughed at by Raven for five minutes straight, she wasn’t about to forget about this particular rule.
And then it was down to the final ball, the shot that Clarke had expected her to leave for last. The rest of her balls had been down at the end of the table, the opposite end from where Clarke had hit the 8 ball, but this one was positioned next to one of the pockets along the side. It didn’t take a pool genius to expect she’d go for the easier shots that were all in the same area first, so Clarke had taken up her position right next to the side pocket in question.
At the last second, Lexa made the mistake of glancing slightly upwards. Clarke knew exactly the picture she painted: one eyebrow raised in a challenge, lower lip caught between her teeth, hands resting on the green felt of the upper rim, body leaning forwards in her low cut shirt to casually prop up one hip on the table. She was playing dirty, after all, and she knew what effect she could have on people with just some careful positioning. The pool cue slipped, and the cue ball went wildly off course. A forceful shot forwards instead of a careful nudge to the side of the final stripped ball. Clarke’s lip curled into a supremely smug smile and she opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, Lexa rounded the pool table and slammed her into the wall behind them.
The corner, actually, her mind supplied helpfully as she reached out a fumbling hand to catch herself and found another wall on her right side. But that wasn’t really important right now, because Lexa Woods was kissing her, and Clarke was kissing her back without a second thought. Turns out she didn’t mind being pushed into physical corners too by Lexa Woods after all.
Lexa pulled back for a breathless second, the hand in the center of Clarke’s chest that still held her in place in stark contrast with the gentle way her other hand was cradling the back of her head. The look in her eyes was anything but gentle, though.
“You’re playing with fire, Griffin. Do you have any idea what that damn shirt of yours is doing to me?” But she didn’t let Clarke answer, opting instead to kiss her again, roughly, the alcohol loosening her inhibitions enough for Lexa to also move one leg in between Clarke’s, further pinning her in place. Clarke, for her part, just hummed in pleasure. She was more than okay with this development.
But maybe not with the position, though. Clarke used the hand that was on the wall for leverage, flipping them around so their positions were reversed and a surprised Lexa was now the one trapped in the corner, Clarke’s arms bracketing her head, body pressed against hers, still kissing her. Much better.
Everything was always a competition with them, but it had ceased to be malicious a long time ago. Clarke wasn’t sure when it had tipped from annoying each other into full on flirting, but it certainly wasn’t a recent development. Now that they were making out in the corner of their dingy bar, she wasn’t sure why they had waited so long for this. She had to suppress a laugh as the phrase “dueling tongues” from some bad rom com or trashy novel flashed through her mind, but this certainly was a much more fun way to fight. Perhaps it was always meant to end here, in low lighting with the taste of whiskey in their mouths. They wouldn’t have spent so much time together over the past couple years if they didn’t enjoy each other’s company at least a little bit, wouldn’t have bothered arguing if they didn’t find each other interesting enough to be worth it.
And none of this was an accident. It was a temptation to finally cross the last boundary between them, but it was also a victory. Clarke gently caught Lexa’s lower lip between her teeth before pulling back so she could see her face, letting her arms fall to twine around her neck and basking in the whine the move elicited. Lexa’s own hands satisfyingly tightened on Clarke’s hips, not letting her go too far, lips shining and face flushed.
“I know exactly what I’m doing,” she said, that smug smile taking over her lips again with a pointed glance over her shoulder. Lexa followed her eyes to see the cue ball sitting innocently in front of one of the pockets. The pocket that Clarke had almost hit the 8 ball into earlier, where it had miraculously stopped just before the edge. “I believe you have to do whatever I want tonight, now.”
“Oh, fuck you.” Her face was absolutely worth the risk she'd taken. Unexpectedly, though, the kissing had been an even better reward.
“Believe it or not, that’s shockingly similar to the plans I have for you.” Clarke’s triumphant laughter filled their corner of their bar as Lexa buried her face in Clarke’s neck, blushing. “But step one is to call a cab, because I would rather not have all of our friends watching for this part.”
Clarke knew said friends were all unsubtly watching the proceedings. There had definitely been some cheering when Lexa finally kissed her, and there was unmistakably more as they all recognized Clarke’s ploy. She didn’t mind, though. They had all put up with four years of their arguing, so Clarke and Lexa could put up with their joking catcalls as they walked out the door of their bar, hand in hand. It was only fair.