Chapter Text
Bellamy Blake was freaking the fuck out.
He had never been more confused about a girl in his entire life, and he had plenty of experience figuring out what made girls tick. Growing up with his mother and sister in a small, enclosed space had ensured that he knew how to maneuver around a woman's thoughts, feelings, and mood swings. How to predict their reactions and adjust his actions accordingly. After twenty-plus years of practice, he had it down to a science, really. It was one of the few things he didn't completely fuck up.
So the fact that he was at a complete loss about a certain Clarke Griffin gave him lots of reasons to be anxious. Hence, freaking the fuck out.
After their... incident... in the med bay and Clarke practically throwing him out on his ass, Bellamy was at a loss of what to do next. What did she want exactly? She had talked to Raven like she was ready to jump his bones any second, and her little play in the medical wing had suggested that was still true. But then she had backed off just as things were getting good—very, very good—and jumped away from him like he was acid fog, and she would get angry, puss-filled blisters if she touched him. Honestly it was a little insulting.
Maybe the blood running out of his nose really had been a turn-off, as Wick had so helpfully mentioned. Either that or she was repulsed by his swollen, black eye which still hadn't lost its greenish hue days later. (Damn that engineer and his wicked left hook. His nose still throbbed in pain at the memory.)
If that was the case, he could understand. Clarke had seen enough blood and gore after they crash-landed on this damn planet. Really he should have come up with a better excuse to see her rather than subject her to the sight of his ugly, busted-up mug. He couldn't blame the girl for being squeamish at the look of him.
But if that were the case, then why had she gotten all up in his business while she was patching him up? Why had she buried those steady, eager fingers in his hair and nuzzled into him like he was a damn teddy bear?
After that little situation, he needed a distraction. Fast.
Luckily, a hunting party was being put together that morning (this time with Chancellor Griffin's seal of approval, so there would be no vicious, verbal reprimandings this time) and Bellamy signed up so fast it left Marcus Kane's head spinning.
Now he was sitting near a fire, cleaning his rifle (lovingly) and putting a pack together for the two day trip into the woods. He was not thinking about the princess. At all. He was an infallible wall of focus, thinking only about the best hunting spots, the best trails to follow, and how to get the others to quiet their damn footsteps so he could actually shoot something—
"Where do you think you're going?"
Damn it.
"Hunting," he told the blonde-haired medic. He didn't even have to look up to know it was her. That haughty I'm-better-than-you-but-I-won't-tell-you-that-because-that's-rude tone was burned into his eardrums. Even more so since he had eavesdropped on her and Raven's little conversation about seduction, and taking clothes off, and using mouths—
"Hunting? With your injuries?" Clarke put her hands on her hips, and Bellamy swallowed.
"It was a fist-fight, Princess. Not a bullet to the chest."
(He didn't even bother with the 'I fell' excuse. It had been a pretty bad lie in the first place, one she had sniffed out immediately.)
She pursed her lips.
"Your eye is still swollen."
Bellamy lifted his eyebrows above two Very Not Swollen eyes.
She huffed. "Your nose hasn't healed all the way."
He scoffed. "So I'm just supposed to stay tucked safely in my tent until it does?" Like hell, he would. Someone would have to chain him to the bed to keep him in one place that long. Not that he would mind overly much if a certain person chained him to his bed, but that was far too complicated to delve into at the moment.
"You shouldn't go," she twiddled her fingers. "What if somebody accidentally hits it, and I'm not there to reset it?"
Okay. What the hell was happening here? She was worried about his nose? What was the rest of him, chopped liver?
"I'm pretty sure my nose will be alright without you, Clarke."
Her feet shuffled and his eyes tracked the movement.
"Don't go," she said, looking right into his eyes. She did the eyebrow thing, where one of them inched a little higher than the other, imploring him to just listen to her, damn it.
Nope. Not falling for it.
"I'm going," he said. "Kane needs all the shooters he can get to guard the archers." A few of the ARK people had picked up bows and arrows for hunting, courtesy of Lexa and her Grounder army. But the woods were still dangerous, and the scary-ass Mountain Men were out there, so they still brought their high-powered rifles on every hunting trip. You know, Just in case they needed to kick some extra ass.
Clarke's nose scrunched up, a sign that he was about to be In Deep Shit.
"I'll be back before you know it!" he placated quickly. "And with food. Real food. That your mom won't yell at us for getting."
She sighed, defeated by the temptation of a good meal. "Is there any way I can... convince you to stay?" She lifted a brow at him.
Bellamy choked.
Oh, there were so many ways she could convince him. Plenty of ways. That involved a locked door and minimal clothing.
Shut it down, Blake.
He smiled at her, hoping it didn't look like a dopey grin. Man, he was a complete doofus around this girl.
"Nope." He needed to clear his head, and he couldn't do that here, where he seemed to run into the blonde-haired cause of all his muddled thoughts around every damn corner.
"Fine. But if you don't bring back something delicious, then I won't check on your nose when you get back. I'll let it heal into a goofy-looking shape. Your good-looks will be dashed."
"Deal."
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True to his word, Bellamy came back with the hunting party two days later, dragging an elk and two foxes with them. They had gotten lucky—they could use the pelts for the coming winter, even if they were minimal. At least he could make a cozy fur hat for Princess or something, while the rest of them froze their asses off.
What? Priorities.
As soon as he walked into the gate, he scanned the crowd for Clarke but couldn't see her. He felt a pang of worry. She was usually waiting at the gate when any hunting party returned, checking for injuries and illness. If someone came back infected with a deadly disease, Clarke was the one who threw their sorry asses into quarantine.
So the fact that she wasn't there to greet them left a niggling feeling in his gut.
He went to the med bay first, but the other orderlies there told him that they hadn't seen her since yesterday evening. His next stop was the mess hall where he ran into Wick and Raven, who said they hadn't seen her since that morning. He even went to her quarters, but couldn't find the princess there, either.
Now he was getting déjà vu.
Defeated, he went back toward his room, but froze when he heard voices inside and realized his door was cracked open.
"—you doing in my brother's room?" He recognized Octavia's voice. She almost sounded amused.
"Nothing. I was just checking if he was back yet." Clarke's voice followed.
Shit. Not this again!
"Uh huh. If you were so worried, why weren't you out by the gate where you usually wait for him?"
"Um. Well, I thought since it was so late he might have come straight to his room anyway, and I was in the area..." Clarke sounded nervous.
"Bull honkey!" O sang cheerfully. "I bet you just wanted to catch him unawares, waiting here in his room—"
"No! Really, I was just walking by—"
"You were laying in his bed—"
"My feet are a little sore—"
"Is that a candle burning—?"
"It was dark."
"Oh my god, you're trying to seduce my brother!" Bellamy winced as Octavia's voice carried down the hallway. He seriously hoped no one heard that. He ran an exasperated hand down his face. How many times was this whole accidental eavesdropping thing going to happen? It was going to send him into an early grave.
"Shh! Octavia, be quiet!"
"Sorry! It's just a little bit weird. I mean, he's my brother..."
Yeah, no kidding.
"... I am not talking about this with you."
Oh, thank god.
"Oh, thank god."
He almost chuckled. Of course he and his sister would think alike at a time like this.
"Well, I'll just leave you to it, then," Octavia said as a pair of footsteps walked toward the door.
Fuck!
He looked for a place to hide—he would've taken the rickety, death-trap desk at that point—but it was too late. The door slid open and there was his sister, right in his face. And just behind her was Clarke, sitting on his bed, watching Octavia leave. There was no way she would miss him standing there right in the doorway.
Sure enough, their eyes locked. Something in his mind snapped.
Octavia looked between them cautiously. "Well, this is awkward."
"No shit," he and Clarke said in tandem, not looking away.
"Umm. I'm just gonna... yeah." Octavia slipped past him, scurrying down the hall and out of sight.
Clarke stood up, and he resisted the urge to bolt. She slowly walked toward him and he began to panic. This was it. This was how he died—she was gonna smack the shit out of him, even if this was his room and he had every right to be standing outside his own door—
She grabbed him by the front of his jacket and yanked him into the room. The door closed behind him and it sounded a lot like a gunshot.
He gulped.
She looked like a goddamn hurricane standing right there in the middle of his room. He had seen what hurricanes looked like from space—swirling white masses that spanned over miles and miles of blue ocean, tearing into anything in its path—but he had never witnessed one in person. The most he had seen was a rainstorm. But right there, in that moment, he felt like Clarke was what a hurricane would feel like on the ground: Intense, probably deadly, but also hauntingly beautiful. Something that inspired awe by merely existing.
Then the storm in her eyes shifted, calmed, warmed, and he felt his bones melt onto the floor.
"So, I'm guessing you heard all that," she said, fiddling with a strand of her hair.
Bellamy was torn. On one hand, he could deny it and keep playing their little game of cat-and-mouse. He could say he didn't hear anything, and give her an escape route. She would stumble nervously out of his room, and he would blindly follow—like he always did, it seemed—and they would go sit by the fire, chatting with their friends about the successful hunting trip. Then he would go back to bed, and fall asleep to the imagined feel of her skin on his.
Screw that.
"Yeah, I heard it."
She paled. "Really, I don't know what your sister was talking about. I was just walking by your room, and I thought you might have come back already and then my feet were kinda sore because I was in the med bay all day today, and can you believe that Radio Tower Guy was in there again! And so I sat on your bed, and then Octavia came in and—"
Bellamy quickly covered her rambling mouth with his palm, silencing her rant.
"I heard you a while ago, too. With Raven. About me," he said slowly.
It seemed to take her a second to register his words. When she did, her eyes widened, even with his hand still over her mouth. She smacked it away.
"You spied on me!"
"No!" he said quickly, holding up his hands in a Please Don't Shoot fashion. "It was an accident, I swear—"
"Oh, don't give me that. I can't believe you!"
He was so dead.
"Clarke, I promise you. If I had known that's what you two would be talking about, I wouldn't have listened—"
"So when you realized what we were talking about you just... kept listening?"
He felt a few drops of sweat trickle down his temples onto his neck.
"Uhm... well, yeah. I mean, can you blame me? You were talking about me, so..."
"That doesn't give you the right to eavesdrop." She growled.
"Well, you both would have killed me if you had found me there! It was a no-win situation!" He threw his hands up.
They both glared.
This was not how Bellamy pictured this conversation going. They should have been swapping spit by now.
"Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have listened."
Clarke just looked away, her face turning red. Then she sighed, tilting her face toward the ceiling.
"This was not part of the New and Improved Plan."
"The what now?"
"You know. The Plan you overheard? Well I re-worked it after I... Oh." She scratched the back of her head, looking everywhere around the room but at him.
"Re-worked it after you what?"
"Hey, how was your hunting trip?"
"Clarke."
"It rained yesterday. Must've been hard to track anything—"
"Princess."
She shuffled her feet. Bellamy noticed she had been doing that a lot lately.
"Well I guess fair is fair," she said. She turned to face him like he was her executioner. "I overheard you and Wick talking about me when you came to the med bay a while back."
Well, fuck.
"Huh," he said eloquently. He could feel his face heating up. This was humiliating. He suddenly couldn't blame her for being so pissed at him a few minutes ago. He went through everything he and Wick had talked about while Clarke had been in the supply closet (for what he now realized was a suspiciously long time) and suddenly felt like sinking into the floor.
"You heard that?"
"Yeah."
Fuck! Shit, god damn, fucking, fuck fuck—
A few beats of silence.
Then, as if she could read his mind, the princess began to chuckle.
"What was that?" he asked.
A second later she was outright laughing at him.
"Stop that," he said, indignant.
She just cackled harder. He thought he heard a snort.
"Oh my god. This is so stupid!"
"Stop laughing!"
"I can't!" She wiped a tear from her eye. "It's just too rich!"
He stared at her in wonder, feeling the need to stomp his foot like a child. It wasn't that funny!
"Knock it off, or I'll make you," he growled, his voice lower and more menacing than he meant it to be.
She stopped. Silence. A break in the storm. Then—
"So make me."
Before she could blink, his lips were on hers, and she was hmmm-ing into his mouth, and he had never, ever had it this damn good. She smelled like wild flowers and freedom. Like the fresh grass after a long rain. It made his lungs ache and his heart soar all at the same time. He drank her in like a man on the verge of drying up and crumbling away.
He was turning into some kind of sap, but at the moment he couldn't bring himself to give a shit.
His hands found her ass without his permission, but she didn't pull away to slap him so he kept them there, tempting fate. He pulled her close—she had to go up on her tip-toes—so their bellies lined up, and their chests moved together as they breathed. She made a little noise against his lips that told him he was definitely doing something right. He thought that was a monumental achievement considering his brain flew out the window the second he tasted her lips. He angled his jaw, kissed her harder.
Somehow, she backed him up all the way up to his bed, where the back of his knees hit the mattress and he plopped down. She didn't waste any time before crawling into his lap and re-attaching their mouths. He craned his neck back as she buried her fingers in his hair. Her tongue swiped at his lower lip shyly and he groaned, surrendering to her. She explored slowly, carefully. Like she didn't want to scare him. That, or she was savoring it and wasn't that the sexiest thing ever.
He felt the need to go slow with her—to be as gentle as possible. He wanted this to be a moment she cherished, that she would remember with fondness when they were both old and wrinkled and she thought back to their first kiss. This was something Clarke deserved after everything they went through. Something simple, filled with careful touches and happy sighs into each other's lips. He would control his libido even if it killed him, damn it.
Then her hips began to rock against him, and he gasped into her mouth. The jolt that went through him felt like he had touched a live-wire.
"Cl—Clarke?—Ah! Shit—Uhmm... wait a second."
She licked his lip, and he held on for dear life.
"Shut up," she said against his chin.
"Okay," he squeaked.
She continued to grind her hips into his groin, and he swore that those needy little noises filling the room did not belong to him. Those sounds were from some pathetic little teenage boy who had never grinded with a hot girl before. Definitely not from Bellamy Blake, sex extraordinaire.
So much for taking it slow. Apparently the princess was having none of that.
He let out a particularly embarrassing moan when she buried her face in his neck and bit down, and she smiled against his throat.
Alright, he had some pride to recover.
He grabbed her rear once again and jerked her forward, angling her hips over the bulge in his pants so it rubbed against her just so—
"Ah! Bellamy!" Clarke's back arched and her fingers clawed into his shoulders. Her hips stuttered and jerked against him.
That was better.
He set an unyielding pace, and she let out small whimpers as they rocked together, her sounds muffled into the slightly abused skin of his neck. He could feel her heart pounding against his chest, and he had never felt so close to anyone before. He had slept with plenty of women right after they came crashing from the sky. But right now, with all of their clothes still on, he felt like he was touching Clarke in far more intimate ways than any of those other girls.
Fuck, he was definitely in love with this wild woman currently driving him out of his mind—
The realization knocked the air right out of his chest, and he felt the overwhelming need begin to build in his groin.
Shit, shit, shit!
He stopped them instantly, stilling her hips and trying to reign himself back from the edge. He took a few deep gulps of air and buried his nose into her hair. Savoring this. Savoring her.
He was still so very screwed.
She panted, wiggling in his lap. No doubt frustrated beyond belief.
"Why'd you stop?" she whined, bringing her forehead to his. He rubbed their noses together, despite the slight pain, as his was still broken.
"Just give me a sec, Princess." Before I come in my pants, he thought sardonically.
Clarke kissed him lightly, giving him a moment to catch his breath. Her nails carefully scratched up the back of his neck and into his hair, and he sighed. He had definitely died and gone to heaven. Earth couldn't possibly feel this awesome.
Suddenly, she pushed against his shoulders until he was flat on his back.
"Wha—?"
The princess smiled benevolently as she sat straight up and began to rotate her hips in agonizingly slow circles over his crotch.
"Shhhhiiit..."
She giggled, fucking giggled, and scraped her nails down his shirt, over his abs, until they hooked into his belt. She didn't pull his pants down, she just clung onto it like it was a saddle, and she was riding him like he was a damn prized stallion. Yee-fucking-haw.
"Clarke!"
"Hmmm?" she smiled down at him, an angel and a devil all at once.
He bucked beneath her, unable to control his hips, and he watched her breasts bounce with every move. Her mouth made a little 'o' as she threw her head back and that was it, he was at his damn limit. His whole body throbbed with pleasure. Every place she touched zinged and tingled. He dug his fingers into her hips (he hoped he didn't leave marks, she had enough damn bruises) and bucked against her until he tumbled over the edge, her name a prayer and a plea on in his throat.
She fell forward onto his chest, and he was having trouble gulping down air, but he didn't have the heart to tell her to sit up. Not that he even wanted her to. He ran his fingers through her hair, not minding when they inevitably became tangled in it. That was where his hands belonged anyway—tangled up in Clarke Griffin somehow.
"That was fun," she whispered against his jaw. Her hips still moved in little circles against him, making his mind go even more blank.
"Hnngg?"
The princess just chuckled at him, planting butterfly kisses on his collarbone.
"I'm so glad I decided to try this whole seduction thing out."
He couldn't agree more.
"I mean, I thought it would be a lot more difficult to get you off."
Wait. What?
"I thought you were some kind of sexpert or something, since you slept around so much, but now look at you. Way too easy."
Woah, woah, woah. Back the fuck up.
His eyes snapped open to see her smirking at him.
Girls were crazy.
"What? Care to prove me wrong?"
His felt his eyebrow twitch. It was amazing how good she was at this 'Seduce Bellamy' bullshit.
Bellamy Blake flipped Clarke Griffin beneath him, pinning her to his bed. She laughed at him, then moaned when his hands started to wander.
"My turn," he grinned, and got to work.