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Clarke stared critically at her own reflection, turning her head this way and that. Frontal, sideways, from behind, nothing was adding up.
Her shirt used to be comfortably loose. Her pants used to close snugly around her hips. Her clothes used to fit.
That can't be right.
She gingerly lifted her shirt - the entirely new one Lexa's personal tailor had just made, with the exact same measurements Clarke knew she'd had at some point - and hesitantly pinched at her side with two fingers. It was soft. It had always been soft, of course it had. Clarke wasn't the type of girl who'd remained flat and lanky even after puberty, she had curves. But they'd always been subtle curves, elegant slopes and falls that barely hinted at the flush of womanhood.
Now there was this. She'd had muscles at some point - after landing on Earth and learning to spend her days with strenuous physical chores rather than chess and classes - but those muscles had long since receded, eaten away at by the boredom of political debates and banquets in honour of the peace they'd achieved.
With something akin to horror, Clarke poked into the soft flesh of her belly. It jiggled. It honest-to-god jiggled.
No, that couldn't be right. It was her imagination, nothing more. The tailor had made a mistake. He'd gotten her measurements wrong or hadn't cut the fabric right or-
"Clarke."
With a speed previously unknown to man - Arker or Grounder - Clarke pulled her shirt back down, keeping her hands fisted in the fabric so it wouldn't slide up. The movement was uncomfortable, if only because she was afraid the buttons of her pants might give up the fight at any moment.
It wasn't as though the additional weight bothered her, exactly. She'd always liked her curves and that hadn't changed - it was Lexa's reaction she worried about, more than anything. She was a Grounder and Grounders were strange in a lot of ways. They valued strength and commitment, loyalty and the will to fight. It wasn't implausible to think they might look down on someone who overindulged themselves.
The way Clarke had, on a few (fine, a lot of) occasions, thanks to the seemingly never-ending stream of delicious food the Grounders were determined to serve up at every damn meal ever.
Lexa raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment on Clarke's odd behaviour. She approached her, wrapping her up in a hug. The soft smile Lexa only ever seemed to bestow on her was lost on Clarke as she contemplated Lexa's arms and how they used to feel longer, she was sure of it.
"Are the clothes to your liking?"
Clarke held back a string of curses that wanted to burst forth and awkwardly extracted herself from the Commander's embrace, chuckling far too loudly. "Of course they are, don't be silly."
Lexa frowned, calloused fingers coming to rest on Clarke's cheek. On her cheek. She never used to do that. She used to grab Clarke by the waist or by the hips, she used to pull them together and kiss her until she couldn't breathe anymore. And now she touched her cheek? What next, a kiss on the nose and a pat on the head?
"Are you alright?"
"Oh, I'm fine," Clarke insisted, inching away from Lexa towards the door. "Just peachy." Or she would be, as soon as she'd gotten a hold of that damn tailor.
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The sun shined warmly down upon her, very unlike Clarke's mood at the moment. Polis was always sunny, always warm, and with dread uncurling in her stomach, Clarke thought of the rapidly approaching summer months and the revealing clothes that would undoubtedly come with it. No way to hide then, even if she could get the tailor to re-do her clothes without catching Lexa's attention.
She closed the door behind her with a sigh, blinking against the low evening light. And then blinked again when she realized that Murphy had been watching her the whole time from his place on the bench separating the two guest houses.
He and Bellamy lived right next door, god only knew why. Clarke liked having Bellamy close by, but she could have lived without running into Murphy every other day.
"So...couldn't find any clothes that fit you?" Murphy asked, looking far too self-satisfied for his own good.
Clarke would have liked to wipe the smirk of his sleazy little face if she wasn't so busy pulling at the hem of her shirt and praying that he wouldn't notice the inches of gratuitous flesh spilling from the confines of her waistband.
Judging herself was one thing, being judged by John Murphy of all people entirely another.
He was sitting slightly bent over, arms wrapped protectively around his stomach and Clarke's eyes narrowed, zeroing in on the perceived weakness of her opponent.
"Are you hiding something, Murphy?"
He flinched, jerking off the bench for a moment as if to prove that no, there was absolutely nothing wrong with skulking in front of her house and there certainly was nothing he would have to hide from the likes of her. His shoulders pulled taut, and he pushed out his chest like a particularly huffy bird.
Clarke hadn't seen him in some time, too busy with keeping up the alliance and, if she was honest, holding no desire to have any more contact with him than necessary. Object of Bellamy's misguided affection or not.
She could be mistaken, but she thought his face seemed...healthier. Fuller, somehow. Was that the barest hint of a double chin? Didn't he use to have cheekbones?
His shirt hid most of what was underneath, but Clarke was reasonably sure that the new-found bulkiness didn't just come from the shirt itself.
She raised her eyebrows in realization, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "You've gained weight as well," she hissed. "You're just as bad as me!"
Murphy jumped up, cheeks puffing out in righteous indignation and revealing the full extent of his bodily expansion. It wasn't that bad - just a bit of added weight he needed anyway, gangly as he was - but Clarke did not feel like going easy on him.
"At least I don't look like my clothes will explode at any second, Princess!"
Clarke gasped at his audacity and stepped forward, into his personal space, finger placed firmly against his sternum. "Well, your face looks like a potato."
He retreated at her continuous poking, grimacing at the sharp little finger maltreating his chest. His very soft chest.
"And what's wrong with your chest?" she asked, mockery dripping from her lips. "Lexa has more chest muscles than you."
Okay, so that might have been a bit harsh and a bit of a lie.
He opened and closed his mouth like a fish, sputtering uselessly, before finding his words. "That's because your girlfriend has no tits to speak of."
Oh, now he'd done it. No one got to insult Lexa and live to tell the tale. Especially not John 'I ruin everything' Murphy.
"She's got more than enough," she snarled, contemplating whether clawing out his lizard-like eyes would be worth the damage to her and Bellamy's friendship.
"At the moment, you got more than enough for both of you. Tell me, Princess, does she have to be on top so you don't smother her?"
Lower eyelid twitching dangerously, Clarke sucked in a calming breath and cocked her head, plastering on the friendliest and, as it happened, most terrifying smile in her arsenal. "So, John, what's Bellamy's opinion, now that you've gone from unattractive to hideously ugly? When was the last time he looked at you while he was doing you?"
Again, harsh. But oh did he deserve to suffer.
Murphy seemed to stand still for a second, unimaginable horrors reflected in his eyes. Then he shook his head, much like a confused, fat snake following a flute. "And when was the last time you and the Commander had sex at all, huh?"
Clarke opened her mouth to reply, drawing a giant blank. There was that one time...they...no, they decided to cuddle instead. But they did have sex recently. Right? They must have. At some point. Probably.
They were simply busy. They had their people to consider, wars to avert, rules to establish and enforce. Not that Lexa had been particularly insistent lately. In fact, the more Clarke thought about it, the clearer it became. The cheek touches, the cuddling, the lack of Come here, Sky Princess. Lexa hadn't even wanted to play 'taken hostage by the leader of the Sky' in the last few weeks. All they'd done was cuddle and cuddle some more and Lexa would tell her how warm and soft she was and- Oh god.
She and Murphy exchanged a knowing glance and opened their mouths at the same time.
"She doesn't find me attractive anymore."
"He doesn't find me attractive anymore."
Murphy bit down sharply on his fingernail, nibbling on it even as his eyes darted around nervously. "We're done for. We're gonna have to work out."
Clarke couldn't work out. What was she supposed to do? Run around Polis and make an absolute fool of herself? Train with the Grounders and 'accidentally' get stabbed by Indra? What would she tell Lexa? Oh no, you go on to the banquet without me. I'll be over there, rolling around in the mud.
There would be no more chocolate. And Clarke loved her chocolate. Some days, it was the only thing keeping her sane amidst the madness that was Grounder politics. The whole alliance rested on her getting her daily dose of chocolate.
Murphy groaned in frustration, pulling at his messily braided hair. "There is no way in hell I'm going to-"
Two throats were noisily cleared in the background, putting an early stop to Murphy's rant.
"Never thought I'd see you two talking."
Bellamy strolled over to Murphy and crossed his arms in front of his chest, hovering at his side in that protective way he had. There was nary an inch of space between them and, miserably, Clarke noted that Bellamy barely stopped himself from laying a hand on Murphy's waist. Of course he didn't have a problem with it. Of course Murphy ended up with the understanding boyfriend.
Lexa, on the other hand, kept a proper distance, arms held behind her back and chin raised stiffly. She wasn't even looking at Clarke, fixating Murphy with her ever-chill eyes.
"Has he been making trouble for you, Clarke?"
The wordless Do you need me to get rid of him was soothing, but did not help her bruised ego. Lexa still hadn't come any closer. Public displays of affection had never been a big part of their relationship, but even what little there was - a short touching of hands, a gentle kiss pressed to the spot underneath her ear - had ceased. All in the space of a few weeks.
"I didn't-" Murphy huffed, but was interrupted by Bellamy's hand on his shoulder.
"Whatever it was, it won't happen again. I'll make sure of it."
Naturally, Murphy was the one complaining when Bellamy couldn't even keep his hands off him for all of five seconds. It wasn't like they were particularly quiet at night either. Clarke knew what was going on. She didn't like to think about it, but it was impossible to miss just how much Bellamy was into the whole dirty lizard thing.
Thankfully, Murphy shut up and wordlessly let himself be pulled into the direction of the doorway - probably to have wild lizard monkey sex and Clarke absolutely hated him.
Lexa lightly laid the tips of her fingers against Clarke's back - nowhere near her waist or hips, Clarke acknowledged sourly, and hesitantly steered her towards their own home. Probably to cuddle.
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"What was that all about?" Lexa asked quietly once they were safely back inside their little house. Technically, it was Clarke's (at least for the time being), but the Commander spent so much time here that it might as well be theirs.
"Nothing important," Clarke replied tersely, remembering the way Bellamy had touched Murphy and the way Lexa had most decidedly not touched her.
"You were arguing rather loudly."
Clarke huffed, fiddling with the hem of her too-goddamn-small shirt and turned away. Maybe if she couldn't see her front, the rolls wouldn't be quite as obvious.
"It was inevitable. Murphy is a dick."
Lexa smiled softly, unsure. "Bellamy seems to like him."
"There's no accounting for taste," Clarke muttered, looking around for her old clothes. They weren't pretty - scraps, in fact - but at the very least they were loose enough to hide in. It was frustrating. She couldn't even wear Lexa's clothing the way Murphy could wear Bellamy's because Lexa was just too damn slim. She was tall and graceful and long-limbed and Clarke had to look like a whale in comparison.
She jumped when Lexa suddenly appeared at her back - curse those Grounders and their strange ninja skills - and slipped long fingers around her waist. Clarke stiffened.
"Clarke?"
She tried to wriggle out of Lexa's grasp. Try being the key word. What she eventually ended up with was more of an awkward pirouette and a very lost-looking Lexa.
The confused look turned into one of resolve and suddenly the Commander's hands were grasping at her waist again. Tickling. Clarke wiggled anew, choking on suppressed laughter and adding bit of pushing and shoving for good measure.
"Lexa!"
She wasn't whining. At all.
"Clarke," Lexa replied stoically and continued her assault, hands finding their way beneath the fabric of Clarke's shirt with practiced ease. Laughter drowned out Clarke's reservations. Just for a moment. Right up until Lexa's hands caught against one of those damn rolls that shouldn't be there and Clarke's arms pressed down instinctively, trapping Lexa's hands against her body.
Right where she wasn't supposed to touch. Wonderful.
Lexa's fingers twitched against her sides and Clarke looked away, anywhere but at Lexa who had no doubt realized that the clothes she'd so painstakingly requested of her tailor were a size too small and her belly was no longer taut and her arms were probably flabby and her stomach bunched up when she bent down. And then Lexa issued the proverbial final blow.
"You have gained weight."
The sound that came out of Clarke's mouth was an odd mix of indignant shriek and pitiful whimper and suddenly she felt like punching her. Just a little. And the soft kiss Lexa pressed against her cheek did not help matters.
Well, at least not a lot.
"And you feel uncomfortable with it."
No, I feel uncomfortable with you feeling uncomfortable with it. She wanted to respond with something witty and scathing, but when Lexa merely continued to watch her with the same patience she always did, Clarke sighed.
"The clothes don't fit," she muttered, not at all sulky thank you very much, and resigned herself to her fate. Lexa's eyes traveled down her form and snapped back up again, like she'd done it on accident - or didn't like what she saw.
"And you don't want to have sex with me anymore," Clarke stated darkly, shoulders slumping. Again, not at all sulky.
She watched Lexa's eyebrows climb up her forehead - her version of panic, as Clarke had come to realize by now. The expression would have been comical if Clarke didn't feel like hitting her again. Just a little. Maybe with a rock.
"That's not-" Lexa began, shaking her head rapidly.
"You haven't touched me anywhere below the neck in weeks. All we ever do is cuddle."
"I-"
"You kiss me on the cheek. On the cheek. The only people you kiss on the cheek are friends and mothers."
"But-"
"You call me soft, Lexa. You used to call me beautiful and now you call me soft. What am I, a pillow? I don't want to be a goddamn pillow. I want to be desirable to you. I want you to grab me and kiss me the way you used to, not-"
Her words were cut off by Lexa's hands closing around her hips in an iron grip and Lexa's lips pressing against hers and it was hungry and raw and Clarke really missed this. She didn't even care that Lexa's fingers sunk further into her flesh than they did three months ago.
"You are beautiful, Clarke," Lexa whispered against reddened lips when they finally had to come up for air. Her voice dropped into a low growl, just the way it did when she was giving out orders. It made Clarke shiver. "You are beautiful and soft."
As if to prove her point, she shifted and let her hands glide up Clarke's side and onto her back.
"Then why the abstinence?" Clarke asked roughly, focused on the slim hands on her body. "You know, we could have been having sex the whole time instead of listening to Bellamy and Murphy do it like they'll never get another chance."
And if there was a touch of bitterness in her voice, well, then that was simply the product of a very active imagination.
Lexa cleared her throat, averting her eyes. "You seemed uncomfortable with physical contact beyond cuddling. I didn't want to...push you."
"Push me away, you mean."
Silence. Then, "Perhaps."
Clarke sighed and splayed her fingers over the Commander's jaw, enjoying the novel feel of muscles clenching beneath her touch. "For the record, I like it when you touch me. I thought you just didn't find me attractive anymore."
Lexa's eyes did that thing again where they roamed down and darted back up to glue themselves to Clarke's forehead. Except this time, there was a distinct redness spreading across her cheeks.
And then things clicked. Lexa's sudden affinity for cuddling -not that they hadn't cuddled before, just not quite that much - the demonstratively chaste kisses on the cheek, the looks Clarke had interpreted all wrong.
Clarke's eyes widened. "You like it," she stated while Lexa idly turned her head to look around the room, apparently fascinated with the ornamental decoration of the wooden beams she'd seen a hundred times. "You're not just okay with it. You like that I've gained weight. And you've been keeping things safe on purpose."
"I..." Lexa started, uncharacteristically shy, before she caught herself with a small shake and reverted back to her usual persona, all calm and confident. Even despite the blood rushing to her face. "I do not mind your body's changes."
The way her eyes widened fractionally when Clarke pushed her chest out - just a bit and entirely on accident, of course - belied her dismissive tone.
Now that Clarke thought about it, it made a lot of sense. Lexa had always liked her curves. Her breasts, especially. Even when they'd been at odds, Lexa's eyes had always strayed to just below the line of propriety. (Clarke would be lying if she said she hadn't used that to her advantage every now and again.) Really, sometimes it was hard to get her to focus on anything else.
Like right now, for example.
"Lexa, you're staring."
The Commander tore her eyes away from Clarke's cleavage - more ample than it used to be, thanks to food and a bra that needed to be exchanged for a bigger one. By now she'd reached the shade of a very impressive tomato.
Her hands awkwardly dropped back to Clarke's hips and she coughed, stepping back hastily. "I will take the clothes back to the tailor and ask him to make the necessary adjustments."
Clarke raised a single eyebrow. "No."
"Excuse me?"
Without a second of hesitation, Clarke took Lexa's wrists between her fingers and laid her hand smack-dab on her right breast.
"Clarke?"
"There'll be time for that later. Right now, you're going to make up for the time we lost."
Clarke deeply enjoyed the choked whimper Lexa couldn't quite mask behind her facade of indifference. Equally as enjoyable was the thought that Murphy wasn't getting more love than her. Speaking of which...
With a glance at the open window (and by extension the still building beyond) and a quick kick of her legs, the wooden table in the corner fell, producing a satisfying thump. The same sound a body might make when being thrown against the wall in a fit of passion.
"To settle a score," she explained at Lexa's questioning glance, doing absolutely nothing to alleviate the confusion. "Don't worry yourself over it."
Whatever protests might have been waiting at the cusp of Lexa's throat never made it, lost in the wake of lips and teeth and tongues and soft flesh.