It started out as hate sex, I think. We couldn't stop staring at each other, wondering what the other would look like naked. It was after Rowan brought her back that it started. She was angry, I let her be angry. She is reasonably angry, I put a bird in a cage. A bird such as her... many desire to cage her, but at least here she's safe. But wild things such as her bite the hands that feed them at any turn. I told them not to punish her; why break such a spirit? I don't mind being bitten all that much, anyhow. We're in the war room, a flurry of passion.

I'm on the map table, papers pushed out of the way. My armour is partially unbuckled and my breastplate has been torn off, so she can touch my skin. She has a special affinity for breasts, one that I don't understand. I prefer her lips most of all, her eyes are a close second. Whatever she's doing feels good, but I don't look down. I look up at the ceiling, my hand fisten in her hair. I'll take her how I can have her, but every time we do this is a reminder I didn't need that she doesn't love me the way I love her.

I can't say I blame her, really. I left her people to die in Mount Weather. She stops whatever she's doing, and grabs my face. "Lexa? Kiss me." She says, and I oblige. My mind, however sharp, softens. I open an eye to her sliding her hand into her own pants. I spin us, and lay her down on the map table. My hand takes the place of hers, and I stifle a gasp. I'm stronger than this, stronger than how she feels. She runs her hands through my hair, through the braids there. My warpaint, more cerimonial than anything, leaves black smudges on her chest and stomach.

"Fucking finally." She gasps, arching her back and smiling at me. I smile too, for some fucking reason. I slide her pants down, and then the scrap of fabric she's calling underwear down with my teeth. Even now, I'll never admit that I want to impress her. I lick my fingers before putting my mouth on her. Her back arches, legitimately this time, and her head hits the table with a thump. Reaching around desperately for something to grab, she finds the small mock-commander and grips it with white-knuckled force.

One of her thighs drapes itself over my shoulder, and I don't notice when she unfurls her fist to look at the piece she grabbed. My head shoots up when I hear the piece shatter against the wall. She sits up abruptly, and I tilt my head. I hold her thighs and kiss the side of her knee, confused. She usually likes this, why isn’t she laying down? Her breathing is heavy, and her neck is flushed. I shift on my knees. “Leave us!” I shout at the door when I hear my guards’ footsteps in the hall.