#betcha thought you were gonna get something sweet snarky huh

[butmakeitgayblog]

🪽I just remembered birds will often preen and flash their wings to show off for their mates and can't get the idea out of my head of Demon!Lexa absolutely using her wings against Clarke's obvious weakness for them. Just stretching them full out to their magnificence every now and then to see Clarke go all big eyed, fluffing them up whenever Clarke compliments her, letting them swish around a little more freely when Clarke is watching, flexing and snapping them in arguments or when she's protective of Clarke 🪽

The ride out is deafeningly quiet.

Heavy in the settled weight of it between them, the fog of unspoken words only broken by the swish and thunk of too-new wipers that squeak across the windshield in maddeningly timed intervals.

Clarke grips the wheel in a loose fist. Easy, careless. Relaxed and unbothered. Everything her insides are not.

She glances over to her passenger, sat hunched and just as silent as she'd been when they'd pulled off, merely watching endless field go by.

Clarke turns down another deserted road and feels the wheels crunch along wet dirt and gravel.

"Baby." She reaches for the hand clutching an endlessly bouncing thigh. Pries it free from its death grip. Fingers turn and twist in a dance that requires no thought at all that point, just enough to slip easily in between the spaces of Clarke's own.

Eyes turn to her, looking so much more grey than their usual enchanting green under the dreary backdrop of skies that spit rain and rolls of thunder.

Lips pull tug up at the edges in a woeful attempt at a smile, looking foreign aand uncomfortable on such a normally deviously pleased face.

"Are you okay?" Clarke asks, squeezing the hand laced with her own.

A single slim shoulder lifts in a shrug. "Of course."

"Are you though?"

"Yes."

"Because it's okay to not be okay."

"I know."

"But I'm just saying. If you're not—"

Lexa's next smile is more genuine, somewhere between fond and fondly exasperated as she takes Clarke's hand and lifts it to her lips to dust it with a kiss. "I know, gorgeous," she whispers against Clarke's skin, nipping a bite of her teeth to Clarke's knuckle for good measure. "But I'm fine."

The tickle of her lips makes Clarke's skin tingle with ever sweet, plump brush.

Clarke smiles back at her girlfriend, pulling her closer and chancing the safety of their ill-gotten means of transportation for moment when she leans over to steal a kiss directly from the source.

As a treat. And a promise to let the subject rest. Because as much Clarke wants to be the dutiful girlfriend— supportive and soothing and all that other therapy-talk crap she could think of, the truth is that hearing Lexa's confirmation that the plan was still on sent a wicked thrill racing up Clarke's spine.

Because she'd been waiting for this shit for months.

Months of gently prodding and encouraging, of blatantly pandering to Lexa's insatiable fucking ego, of sweet words and shamelessly trading promises for sexual favors. She'd been relentless, in an entirely loving and supportive kind of way she'd insist, but single minded in her pursuit nonetheless.

And now it was here and, fuck, it was all Clarke could do not wiggle in her seat as she pulls back to send her girlfriend a fang-capped smile.

Lexa's eyes brightened at her obvious excitement, even if the palm in her grip stays clammy. But the air feels lighter between them as Clarke eases the car off the desolate road and takes them out further into the clearing surrounded by a thick boundary of woods.

The rain had all but stopped by the time she parks, only a few sprinkles refusing to give up their southern march. They get out in a flourish, Clarke's speed born of pure excitement, Lexa's of a deeply misguided desire to gallantly always open Clarke's door.

Arms wrapped around her waist the second they met in the middle at the front of the car.

Clarke decides her pout is more than worth the disappointment.

She doesn't give Lexa time to dwell on it anyway.

"You ready?" she breathes instead, running her hands over the tightly coiled muscles where her girlfriend's unyielding shoulders meet an elegant neck.

Lexa simply nods with a sigh, pulling Clarke closer until they're flush, skin warming against the chill autumn air that rustles through the open patch of field.

A purr explodes low in Lexa's chest, vibrating in deep sensual rolls that shoot straight down to Clarke's core. Lips find hers and sweet her up in a punishing, demanding kiss.

Clarke loved when Lexa gets like this. When she teeters on the knife's edge between damnation and saint. When the demon inside of her that sits quiet and patient on most days came forward to rattle the hinges of its cage and threaten to pull Clarke down with it.

Her moan dies on the wind as Lexa moves to cradle her jaw, holding her captive as she licks into her mouth. Clarke's hands squeeze the swell of Lexa's perfectly round ass, earning a grunt of satisfaction at the way it made hips grind deliciously against hips.

It is a promise.

An oath.

A vow of things yet to come; a depraved sacrament sealed in lips and tongue for it all to be fulfilled later.

After this little shit got her ass off the ground.

Clarke pulls back from the kiss with a stinging bite to a plump lip, smirking at Lexa's hiss of pleasured pain.

"Stop stalling," Clarke says with a quick lap of her tongue to catch the trickle of blood before the wound can completely heal right before her eyes.

Pools of black glitter under the canopy of clouds as Lexa hums and smirks right back. "Not stalling," she lilts, fingers toying with shorter curls around Clarke neck. "Just tasting what's mine. It's the lord's day after all. Think of it like an act of worship."

"Baby." Clarke leans in and whispers against Lexa's lips. ".... You are so full of shit."

Her angel's laughter was light. Breathy, airy, and sweet, teeth flashing sharp and deadly in the richness of her joy.

Clarke traces her hands in loops along the holy ground nestled between shoulder blades. Expectant. Wanting. Waiting to give comfort to raw and reddened skin exposed by Lexa's loose fitting tank top like so many times before.

But as always, Lexa surpises her instead.

"Would you mind if I walk for a minute? I think," Lexa says around a thick swallow, "I think I need a moment to myself."

Clarke fights the crease of her frown, searching within the abyss of twin inky eyes and finding only resolution and calm. "Oh course, baby. Do you... Do you want me to go?"

"No," Lexa says quickly, extinguishing the embers of disappointment and alarm before they can set. The sloped tip of her lips is easy when she smiles, when she leans down and gives Clarke another lingering peck, when she pulls back and rests their heads together and releases a shaky sigh. "I always want you here, my love."

Clarke's arms hug Lexa tighter at the poorly concealed plea within the endearment.

The one that still makes Clarke's heart pound even after all these months of living in blissful sin.

"Okay, baby. Whatever you need," Clarke says in a silent promise right back, knowing Lexa hears the unspoken assurance that she's not going anywhere loud and clear.

They release each other with only a little nod of agreement. Clarke climbs onto the hood of the car when Lexa shakes her limbs loose and takes her leave, uncaring of ass prints or dents as she settles in for the show. The rain that clings to the paint seeps through her jeans, but she pays it no mind, eyes focused and forward on the retreating figure.

It wasn't entirely a surpise.

Because Lexa had been honest, had told her hesitation and why she hadn't truly used her wings in so long.

They'd been laying naked in bed, sweat cooling on their skin as they twisted and curled into each other. Sated sighs had given way to contented hums and sex-muddled grins as they'd rested on outstretched bed of feathers. Clarke's fingers slipped through the satiny black. Watching the plumes rise and fall like tiny cascades of water under her touch.

She would never get over their softness.

And she'd listened when Lexa had said just how intensely she hated them. How she wished every day that they were gone. How she loved Clarke touching her in every way possible... but kind of hated the sight of her touching them.

The idea of it broke Clarke's heart.

Because Lexa was beautiful, and so were her wings, and she knew in her soul one couldn't exist without the other. They were a pair, a holy union of flesh, feather, and bone; a devastating tableau gilded straight from the very heavens that had damned her. They'd endured an eternity of wrath and ire, and carried the scars of brimstone laden hellfire, and without their menacing shadow, Lexa would never be whole.

So Clarke had pushed.

Had worked to mend the tattered relationship between them in soft encouragement, and reverent touches, and a steady stream of praising words of devotion for the last true thing that tied Lexa to the place she'd never be allowed to call home again.

But this boundary, this final line of reconciliation... she knows there is nothing left for her to mend.

This last step was something Lexa had to do on her own.

The minutes tick by on breezes and sputters of mist as Clarke watches Lexa amble about the open space of the field. She watches her angel stop at every flower patch, pausing to pick a bloom or two, only to stand and twirl it between her fingers.

Crush it.

Cast it aside and move on.

A clap of thunder rolls off in the distance as Lexa comes to a stop in the center of the field, head tilting back in a whip of curls as Lexa lifts her face toward the sky.

The earth goes deathly quite.

Hands ball into fists, muscle and sinew tightening with the strain, and though Clarke can't see the welts crack and bleed from such a distance, she knows the heat and feel of their rawness well. Black blooms like inky puddles from Lexa's shoulders, dripping in midnight shaded curls that stretch and wind out to the sides. The wings unfurl and fluff themselves into existence in a sinister display of opulence, sleek and deliciously lethal against the field's serene backdrop.

It's enough to have the air catch in Clarke's throat, leaving her struggling around a breath because somehow the damn things seem... bigger.

Enormous, in fact, if her amateur artist's eye is to be trusted and the little demon voice in her head makes a joke about how her girlfriend is apparently a 'grower'.

Because now the wings stand tall, stretch wide to double their normal size and jesus christ why hadn't Lexa ever mentioned that those fuckers can get bigger?! Those wings that have caressed her and held her close, that have warmed her skin with their silken touch. Now they suddenly look so ominous. So lethally beautiful in their grandeur.

Slack jawed and gripping the hood of the car beneath her for dear life, Clarke watches as Lexa visibly breathes a sigh of relief once the whole ordeal is done. And she looks small, so painfully small standing there under the proud crown of feathers that have settled in a menacing halo around her back.

Face still turned up toward the heavens, Lexa takes a set forward in the clearing as her arms slowly rise at her sides.

She's a vision of all things holy, a Hadean picture of the damned and divine, an annointed messenger bearing witness to the gospel of heaven and hell standing right here on earth.

A gasp rises and dies in Clarke's throat when feathers span and stretch out, and with a ominous downward snap of her wings, Lexa takes off into the air.

The sudden whoosh of wind cracks across the clearing, kicking up fallen milkweeds and splintered grss blades and sending them spiraling through the air. The force is enough to have Clarke sitting back in surpise as her hair blows back off her face in a rippling puff. The trees sway and whine with the force, branches swing in protest of dancing leaves that flip and scatter on the wind.

Clarke's heart races at the sight of it.

At the sheer power of those wings bending the earth to their will.

It's beautiful. Ethereal. Terrifying to behold.

Clarke watches Lexa rise higher with each graceful flex and fold of them, wings stretching wide, lifting upward in an elegant arc only to swoop down in a rumbled clap of air. One leg bends at the knee as Lexa crests the tops of the trees, arms still relaxed and crooked at her sides as though she's floating on air.

She knows no virtuous salvation could ever rival the ecstacy of bearing witness to such a heavenly figure.

The clouds are truly a blessing in that moment, the stark white and grey of them throwing Lexa's wings into haunting, darkened relief. All black plumage looking as grimly void as the cosmos of space as they take flight across the upper crowning of trees.

Lexa flies steadily upward, gaining altitude in steady lifts and sudden bursts of wing-thrust. She loops sideways on breath of wind and barrels downward like slingshot, only for wings flatten and curl and whisk her skyward again.

Clarke's stomach lurches in commiseration, faintly imagining what it must feel like to be so high and so free. Feels the churn of their breakfast roll uneasily in her stomach every time Lexa takes a sharp turn, stops short to hover and look out over the world before taking off with another graceful whoosh of her wings.

The moments pass in the unsteady palpitations of her heart as Lexa disappears beyond the skyline only to reemerge again. She dips low along the tree tops, slices meticulously through their branches, and soars high enough to be nothing more than a speck among the clouds.

It's as terrifying as it is beautiful, and it makes Clarke with the knowledge that that's as close to the heavens as her lover will ever be.

Clarke clambers down from the hood when Lexa coasts close enough that she can feel the air swell with each beat of her wings.

Jet black eyes snap to her. Hold her. Pin her with their stare.

A stare gleaming with silver and gold speckles she's convinced her love has snatched right from the star strewn edges of the cosmos above.

She doesn't think she's ever seen Lexa's eyes look so alive.

The wind whips around the opening in lazy gulfs as Lexa descends back down toward earth, wings now beating a lazy rhythm that matches the slowing thump in Clarke's chest.

Lexa lands in flutter of feathers, all wild, windswept tendrils curls of brunette as her feet kiss the wearied grass blades below without a stumble or falter to be seen.

Before Clarke's world can stop spinning in the awe coursing through her veins, Lexa lurches forward, lips drawn back in a snarl and razor sharp teeth bared to the sky. Jet black eyes flash with murder as she collapses to her knees. A guttural growl rips through the serenity of the air as Lexa slams her fists to the earth in an echoing boom.

It's enough to make the very ground shake. Jolts Clarke straight through her bones. The ground cracks beneath them with the force of the blow, fracturing in tendrils that wind out from her fists and explode in a dirt-laden ploom.

The mud and dust settle in an eerie calm unbroken by even a songbird as the earth seems to still in the wake of Lexa's fury.

It is as thrilling as it is devastating to witness the full scale of Lexa's strength in the remnants of her heartbroken destruction.

Clarke inches toward her wild thing. Moves in slow, shuffling steps to not startle her, clinging to the last vestiges of her calm because at least one of them has to be, as she watches Lexa stay hunched there. Shaking, wings twitching with each labored breath.

She eases down to her knees, careful of the cracks that scorch the earth as she shuffles in as close as she can get through the protective crown of feathers that hover above. Her fingers ghost over chesnut curls that flutter madly in the wind to slip under the steeled bend of Lexa's chin.

Something in her breaks at the sight of her, face so angry and so lost and so achingly small in the towering blanket of her wing's shadow. Twin pools of black that look up at her beneath the hang of lashes. Looking so hallow, so haunted, wet with the tears that threaten to break loose and spill over.

"I thought I'd hate," Lexa croaks in a watery whisper through the sludge of emotion that clogs her throat. "I wanted to hate it... But I missed it."

The sting of her eyes turns Clarke's vision hazy as she gives a jerky nod of understanding and gathers the broken pieces of her angel into her arms.