Chapter Text
prompt: "Lexa assumes Clarke and Bellamy are lovers and suggests to him that Clarke needs some … stress relief because she's wound so tight..."
Clarke storms out of Lexa’s cabin with her jaw set tight and her fists clenched. Bellamy jumps and moves to follow her because he was totally just in the area and not at all lurking around the cabin waiting for her and-
“Bellamy.” Lexa appears at the doorway and nods her head inside. He follows her warily, sparing one last glance towards the angry blonde storming away. He had barely interacted directly with the Commander and had no idea what she’d say to him.
One of her guards closed the door behind him. Lexa took a seat and plucked her knife from the armrest of her chair and began to swirl it absentmindedly.
“Clarke is unfocused,” she tells him. “She is worrying too much about things that are irrelevant and cannot adequately put her mind to the task at hand.”
“She’s doing her best,” Bellamy says immediately. Lexa’s lips quirk up in a small smirk.
“No, she isn’t. She’s stressed and it’s only going to harm us. She needs to relax.’”
“Okay…” Bellamy said, unsure of where this was going. “I’ll take her patrol shift tonight, then. So she can get some rest.”
Lexa shook her head, the smirk still in place. “She’s wound too tightly to sleep. What she needs is a…relief, of sorts.”
The guard behind her chair- Indra, Bellamy remembers her name to be- snorts.
“I don’t know why you’re telling me this,” he says, exasperated. “What do you suggest I do?”
“You’re lovers, are you not?” Lexa asks. “Do as lovers do.”
He walks numbly from the cabin, almost bumping into Miller on his way back to the makeshift tent he had set up in the village.
Lovers.
Him and Clarke.
He’d be lying to himself if he’d said he’d never thought about it. The attraction was there, sure. He admired Clarke, respected her. They had grown closer than ever in the past few months, and he could see why Lexa could have assumed that there was something more between them. But there wasn’t.
He stops when he is hit with the sudden realization that he wants there to be.
Bellamy turns suddenly and heads for Clarke’s tent. She’s pacing when he walks in, worry lines drawing creases on her forehead and her lips moving faintly as she mutters to herself.
“Hey,” he says lamely when she looks up at him.
“Hi,” Clarke says with a sigh, flopping onto her makeshift mattress and flinging her arm over her face. The bottom of her shirt rides up, exposing the pale skin of her abdomen. Bellamy gulps.
“You seem stressed,” he stammers out. Clarke snorts from beneath her arm.
“Do I?”
“You know…” Bellamy tentatively takes a seat on the edge of her mattress. “I-I could help with that. If you want.”
Clarke moves her arm to peak out at him. “What do you have in mind?”
“Come here.” He motions for her to sit in front of him, her back to his chest. She sits up slowly and moves between his legs.
“What are you going to do?”
“Just trust me,” he says, willing his hands not to shake. “And try to relax, Princess.”
He gently removes the worn string he had been using to tie her hair back and hands it to her to wrap around her wrist, knowing that they are hard to come by and she wouldn’t want to lose it. Then he shakes out her hair so it falls freely over her tense shoulders. Starting at the top of her head, he begins to rub his fingers against her scalp, between the strands. Once in a while he’ll use his nails to scratch her lightly, and he swears he hears her hiss.
After thoroughly massaging her head, he moves down to her shoulders, which have slackened considerably by now. Bellamy used his thumbs and the heel of his hand to work the knots out from beneath her skin.
“Ohhh,” Clarke groans when he presses down particularly hard. Bellamy stops automatically, fearing that he hurt her.
"Sorry! I didn’t mean t-”
“Don’t stop!” Clarke practically screams. “I-I mean, it felt good. So, yeah. You, uh, you don’t have to stop.”
Gulping, he continues his ministrations. Clarke relaxes more and more until she’s practically slumped against him. He’s working down her arms now, and he’s praying desperately that he doesn’t pop a boner with the sounds she’s making. That would be the last thing he needs.
“You’re good with your hands,” she murmurs, her eyes fluttering closed. Bellamy stills.
This was his chance.
Taking a deep breath, he ducked down so his lips were at her ear. “I can be better,” he whispers. “Can I show you?”
Clarke’s breath hitched. She doesn’t open her eyes, but after a minute, she nods.
Almost shaking with relief, Bellamy removes his hands from her arms and pull her up slightly, so her head rests on his shoulder. Then he moves slowly, trailing one hand down the length of her torso until he reaches the button of her pants. She stops breathing when he pops it open and slips his hand under the waistband.
“Clarke,” Bellamy chokes out. “You’re not wearing any underwear.”
“I never do,” she replies lightly, and his eyes roll back in his head. “Makes your job easier, doesn’t it?”
He swears under his breath and moves his fingers lower until he brushes the soft curls above her sex. Clarke gasps when he runs his middle finger over her slit, gathering the embrassing amount of wetness that has accumulated there. Bellamy makes a strange sound in the back of his throat.
When his fingers find the bundle of nerves that are the key to her release, Clarke’s hands fly up, one gripping his neck and the other clenched tightly around his right bicep. Bellamy circles her clit slowly at first, and when her hips start moving on their own accord, desperate for friction, he increased the tempo.
Clarke turns her face into Bellamy’s neck to muffle her whimpers when he slips a long finger inside of her, pumping it in and out of her and using the heel of his palm to rub her clit.
“Oh my God,” she cries, her back suddenly arching. “Bellamy! Oh, I-I’m going to-”
“That’s right,” he whispers, kissing her cheek, her jaw, the corner of her mouth. “Come for me, Clarke. Come all over my fingers. That’s it, that’s my girl.”
Her orgasm hits her hard, and she lets out a strangled scream. Bellamy slips his fingers from her pussy but continues to rub her clit softly and slowly as she comes back down to Earth.
“Still stressed?” he asks after a few minutes of her breathing heavily and staring at the back of her eyelids.
“About what?” she breathes, finally opening her eyes. Clarke moves off him and collapses facedown onto the mattress. Bellamy chuckles. His erection is almost painful now, but he figures he’ll take care of it on his own once he’s back in his tent.
“Glad I could help, Princess.” He moves to stand. “Have a good night.”
“Wait!” Clarke rolls so she’s laying on her side. Her face is still flushed from her orgasm, her pants unbuttoned and riding low on her hips. “‘Your girl’, huh?“
Had he called her that? Shit, he hadn’t even realized. “Oh, uh, well-” Bellamy stammers.
"I like it,” she says, grinning. “Now, you should get back over here.”
Bellamy can’t help the smirk that finds it way to his face. “Why should I do that, Princess?”
Clarke grins and bites her bottom lip playfully. “You’re looking a little stressed.”