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Clarke inhaled sharply as Lexa’s fingers brushed over her bare collarbone, trailing up the side of her neck and to her cheeks. Lexa dipped three fingers in the black war paint.
“Close your eyes,” murmured Lexa, and Clarke complied. She felt the Commander’s soft, paint-covered digits on her eyelids. Once Lexa’s fingers left her face, Clarke opened an eye to see what the Commander was doing.
“Don’t open your eyes yet, Clarke! I’m not done,” Lexa sighed, steadying Clarke’s face with her left hand and making quick, downwards strokes with the pointer finger of her right. Feeling Lexa’s breath so close to her face, the Commander’s fingers tangled in the sides of Clarke’s hair, she was working hard to restrain herself. Finally, when Lexa’s hands left Clarke’s face once more to gather more paint, Clarke opened her eyes and began to shuffle forward;
“What are you—” Lexa's sentence was just beginning to take form when it was cut off by Clarke’s lips on hers. She sighed softly into the kiss and returned the warm pressure, first resting her hands on Clarke’s bare shoulders before tangling her left hand into Clarke’s soft blonde hair. As the kiss deepened, Clarke grew more desperate, her hand on Lexa’s thigh moving up to the Commander’s hips and waist. Suddenly, Clarke felt the warm prescience pull away, and her eyes shot open indignantly to meet Lexa’s, which were a deep blue sparkling with mischief.
“You ruined your war paint,” Lexa scolded, shaking her head in mock disappointment. “Your undershirt and pants are covered with this stuff.”
“Well then, help me get them off,” purred Clarke, uncharacteristically needy after being deprived of Lexa in the heat of their kiss.
“As you wish,” Lexa shrugged before pressing her lips against Clarke’s once more.