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Chapter Text

It's one of those nights where Clarke can pretend that life is good and easy. They have food for another week, the Grounders are keeping their distance, and she can't remember the last time she could just stop and relax without feeling her hands dripping blood.

"Enjoying the view, Princess?" a familiar voice asks from behind. Bellamy is as stealthy when he's silent as he's extremely easy to recognize once he opens his mouth. Her breath escapes in a little puff as she smiles. Enjoying anything is a luxury for her, but she can't deny that she has quite the view.

From the tallest pile of mechanical waste she can look at the whole camp, now jazzed up with preparations for the dinner. She is technically in her third hour of guard shift, but the melody of the burning wood with laughs and chatters as lyrics is pretty distracting, so she is half-turned toward the camp.

"Something like that, yeah." Clarke answers scooting over, letting Bellamy climb the ladder and sit next to her. They fall in a companionable silence, watching what they never guessed they would end up calling home. A content smile pulls at her lips, peacefully accepting the warm atmosphere around her.

Even if they have no right to think that way, the camp now embodies the nest where they can feel safe and warm, protected from the dangers outside. Clarke guesses it's a basic human need to find a refuge where you can sigh in relief, and they have managed to build this stronghold in the middle of nowhere, in hostile territory, to call it home. She almost glows with pride.

She quickly glances at Bellamy and finds him with the same smile as hers, the fleeting orange light of the main fire giving his face an exotic complexion.

"Come to check if I was slacking off?" she breaks the silence, longing to hear his voice vibrating along the quiet rumble of the flames.

"Nah. You just looked like you could use some company." He replies, fidgeting with a loose string in the seam of his pants, as to minimize the fact that he had possibly crossed the entire camp to come here. He stops and looks at her, a dubious glint in his eyes. "Was I wrong?"

She almost doesn't let him finish his question with the hurry to shake her head. It's not like she was feeling lonely, but she is glad he came anyway. Talking to him had become easier after the day trip, and she can't help but feel that giving him a second chance to prove himself trustworthy has been one of her wisest choices. It's really one of those nights where everything seems to be going in the right direction.

"'S good." Bellamy nods and turns his gaze at the woods behind them, the fire light hitting his naked neck and revealing a small black shadow.

Clarke's heart jumps in her throat and she almost throws herself at him, grabbing urgently at his collar. "Bellamy, your neck!"

"What the hell, Clarke?!" He tries to reach for her wrists but she shoves his hands away.

"Let me see! It could be some kind of infection."

At the threat of being possibly ill, Bellamy stops trying to push her away and lets Clarke inspect the side of his neck.

She pulls until Bellamy is leaning toward her, his neck under the light of the fire where she can look better at the oval stain. It's darker along the upper and lower arc, with some blood-spots closing the figure at the sides and coloring unevenly the centre.

"Does it hurt? Itch?" Clarke pulls the skin around it, trying to see if there's swelling without daring to touch it herself. Bellamy trembles under her fingertips and she looks at him with the panic starting to clench her stomach, fearing some kind of feverish reaction. But when she meets his eyes he has his lips pressed together and his eyes framed with wrinkles. He's shaking with laughter.

She scowls, focusing again on his mar—

Clarke suddenly presses a digit against it, feeling the skin perfectly intact.

Hopefully the fire is covering the furious blush creeping up her cheeks.

"It's a hickey, isn't it?"

At the shyness in her tone he bursts out laughing, and Clarke finds something incredibly interesting to stare at between her feet, wishing she could bury herself somewhere.

"I'm touched, really, but yes it's a hickey, I'm not gonna die from it."

"It's dark and from where I was- I mean, I thought it might-" Clarke tries to justify herself, but a quick look at the expression full of compassion on Bellamy's face makes her shut up. If he's pitying her, she will push him off the platform.

"A jobi nut for your thoughts?" Bellamy nudges her side with his elbow.

"If you're pitying me, I'll make you sorry." She replies, deadpan.

Bellamy snorts, dragging his arms back and leaning on them to look at the clear sky above. "I'm not pitying you, I'm sure if it had happened in daylight you-"

"It's not like I've ever had one before." She cuts in, without even knowing why she has felt the urge to tell him.

Clarke hears the rustling of Bellamy's clothes as he turns his whole torso toward her. She doesn't dare to look at his eyes, but she can pretty much guess his expression by the incredulity mixed with something that makes him sound smug in his voice. "You've never? No one?!"

"Hey, I didn't exactly have the time to entertain myself on the Ark, being the daughter of the important family and all. People used to stay away from me." Clarke tries her best not to sound miserable, but it's not easy when she's so clearly playing the victim.

Bellamy doesn't focus on her incredibly chaste past—thank God for small miracles—and turns on to more pressing matters. "Not even with Spacewalker?"

Once again she feels her blood flooding her face. How did he-

"It's pretty obvious that you two have something going on."

"Had. Had something going on."

"Before Raven?"

"Before Raven."

Clarke absent-mindedly starts playing with the string on Bellamy's pants, eager to find something to relieve the anxiety she suddenly feels clinging to her back.

Bellamy stays in absolute silence, not moving an inch from where he is, letting her find some kind of solace in the small cut in the fabric, until he decides to give her a heart attack asking her "Do you want to try it?"

Her hands freeze as her head jerks up, a look of utter shock on her face. "What?"

"I said, do you want to try it?"

She just stares. "What?"

"Oh my God, Clarke! Do you want to learn how to make a hickey?"

"With you?"

"No, there's a Grounder out there who keeps on asking me about you and I thought it could be a good chance." He sucks so much at making a sarcastic tone that she worries for a moment he might be serious. But then he lifts one eyebrow and she relaxes, at least until she realizes what he's asking her.

"Ugh, I don't know if it's a good idea."

"C'mon, Princess, you need some practice or you'll make your future prince very disappointed and he'll run away."

"MY prince wouldn't mind my inexperience, thank you very much."

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that."

The mockery behind his words makes her want to punch him. Mostly because he's giving voice to some of her most vicious insecurities, the ones she'll never admit she has whenever she's not fighting for her life. Those insecurities screaming at her that she will survive but she will be alone.

"So? Are we gonna do it or not?"

She finds herself nodding without even realizing that she's doing it.

Bellamy grins happily and at that exact moment a piece of wood crackles. Again the feeling of being home washes over her, and Clarke can't help but smile in return.

"Ok, what do I have to do?" She moves so she's sitting in front of him with her legs crossed. Bellamy mirrors her position, still looking at her with that odd glint in his eyes. Clarke glances around, making sure that no one is getting near the far side of the camp where they are.

"We'll start easy, give me your wrist."

She lifts her left arm and he reaches out, closing his long fingers a little higher than her wrist. He pulls up her sleeve and rests his other hand on the inside of her forearm. He's probably doing it unconsciously, but Clarke is suddenly hit by the realization that his hands are near hers, and she has never been so close to him. She had joined hands only with Finn, and she had chosen him for her first time. It's not really her fault if she's now projecting Bellamy in an intimate context.

"Ok, first the inside of the wrist because it's easily marked and you can look at what I'm doing." He's all professional and she imagines that this might not be his first time teaching something. He must be used to explaining things to Octavia when she was growing up.

Bellamy leans over slightly, bringing her arm near his mouth. "I'm gonna bite now. Then, once I have a solid grip on your skin, I will start sucking." He rubs two fingers over where he has probably the intention to- "The point is creating as much suction as you can, rubbing your teeth against the flesh."

Clarke gulps loudly. Why does it sound so animalistic?

"Does it hurt?" she asks nervously as she stares at his mouth getting closer and closer with each passing second.

"Only if you're doing it right."

Clarke feels his breath on her skin and she has to swallow a small whimper. There's something about the feeling of being eaten, of desiring so much someone that you want to swallow them to make them more yours, that's absolutely foreign to her. She has never wanted something that much, never felt that kind of yearning. Even with Finn, regardless of what she thought was the right thing to do, she gave him up easily, without even regretting it. Her integrity over him, an immediate choice.

But here we're talking about owning someone, forgetting the human inside to let the beast come out.

Clarke has no idea of what it is really that Bellamy is teaching her, and yet the question ceases to have a meaning when he finally touches her with his lips and sinks his teeth into her skin. Her breath catches as she struggles to get used to the sharp pain running through her nerves.

Clarke looks at the point where Bellamy's mouth melts with her arm but she can't seem to form a single thought about it. She should think about the feeling of his lips against her, or the pressure of his face against her forearm, his fingers keeping her wrist in place, instead she is completely absorbed by that little part of her flesh where his teeth have found rest.

Just when she is sure that she's getting used to it, Bellamy drags his tongue around the circle of her skin and starts sucking.

"Ahh, wait, not so hard..." she moans, trying to pull away her arm but only getting Bellamy to bite harder, making her cry out. It's hurting enough to burn, and he resumes his suction with more energy.

Clarke breathes through her nose, trying to bear with it until it's done, but then Bellamy lifts his arm, offering it to her.

"What?"

He looks at her from behind his lowered eyelashes and moves his head to the side, indicating his arm. Clarke isn't sure, but it seems like he's asking her to do the same. She's about to tell him that she doesn't really want to do it, when Bellamy laps her skin and her whole body shudders. That was deliberate and totally pointless for their 'lesson'.

Clarke grabs his wrist and brings it closer the her mouth. She looks at him with a silent question in her eyes, but the only answer she gets is his tongue doing again that wicked twist.

She takes courage then, moves his sleeve with her nose and leans her lips against his skin. She really doesn't know what to do, it's not like she was concentrating that much with him. Going by pure instinct, she bites down.

The first thing she feels is the softness of his skin, the perfect texture under her canines and the sudden urge to sink deeper. It's so unexpected that she pauses, looking at Bellamy for help.

He releases her abused skin, Clarke doesn't even feel the pain anymore, numbed as she is by the overwhelming amount of sensations sent to her brain.

Then she has to swallow and her tongue brushes against his arm. There she finds the taste. Musky and woody, and it reminds her of those fires they light up after the rain. Her mouth literally waters.

Bellamy tightens his hold on her arm as she swallows again. She's guessing right, he jolts when she does it.

"Suck it as hard as you can." He demands with a hoarse voice she didn't know he could have, and she obeys, starting to suck his skin without letting go of the section limited by her bite.

"Look how it’ll end up." Bellamy goes on, moving her arm so that she can see clearly the violet circle marking her milky white wrist. It's an almost pleasant contrast.

Clarke feels some kind of pressure on her chest when she gets a flash of what he has done to her and asks to be done in return. Still, she can't refuse him, so she sucks harder, digging her teeth deeper.

"That's it, good." He encourages her, and when Clarke glances at him she finds him looking at her with such intensity, with his pupils shot so wide and his mouth slightly parted, that she loses her hold and his skin slips away against her tongue. She immediately misses the contact, but she's too busy processing the involuntary clenching between her thighs.

Clarke looks at his wrist, where a matching mark just like hers stands, definitely less violet but not less proud on his skin.

Bellamy smiles at her and reaches out so that their arms are next to each other.

"See? It wasn't that hard."

"I did it!" Clarke looks at both their marks, comparing them and already feeling that ridiculous and pointless rivalry that makes their odd relationship work so well. Next time she will definitely do better than him.

Wait, next time?

Shutting out that thought, she pinches lightly his hickey. "Did It hurt?" Teasing him is the most welcome course of action now that she’s starting to feel embarrassment over what they did, and something akin to hunger that she doesn't really know the meaning of.

Bellamy sighs and Clarke's gaze falls to his swollen lips. The suction did wonders to them.

"Yeah, Princess. You made it hurt."

***

After 4 days, the mark on her wrist is still there, an angry purple against her fair skin, threatening Clarke to distract her at the most inappropriate moments.

Like when she was helping Octavia folding some blankets; the thing had greeted her from under her sleeve and she had almost dropped everything on the ground.

Or when she was talking to Finn earlier, gesticulating how important it was for all of them to have a basic knowledge of how to—and there it was, a flash of colour when she had raised her arm. She had immediately forgot what she was saying. Finn had looked worried, conveniently oblivious to what was happening inside her head.

If he had known, he would have found out that for some unfathomable reason she just couldn't seem to stop thinking about Bellamy's mouth on her wrist, his teeth sinking in her skin and that tongue eating out her flesh.

When the second lucid dream about bites and rough sex had woken her up before the sunrise, leaving her with an honest-to-God waste in natural lubricant inside her panties and too many sordid images for her own good, she had known that she needed to talk with him about it.

Now that she's almost getting used to the b-rated movies her brain has decided to entertain her every night with, she has to admit that it's becoming an urgent issue. She doesn't know how to approach the subject or how to fix the situation, but she can't go on this way. Sooner or later someone will pick up on her strange behaviour and realize that she is basically in heat. Clarke can't explain it in any other way.

She brushes her fingers along the bloodied edge of the mark, wondering what the hell is happening to her. She had never obsessed over Finn this way—and it would have made sense, considering that they've had sex—so the most logical answer is that the absence of a mark to look at everyday, ready to remind her of every single detail, makes all the difference.

With Bellamy things are going alarmingly normal since that night. It's like nothing noticeable ever happened to him, and it only makes Clarke more reluctant to talk about her embarrassing problem. How could she risk exposing such a weakness if the most probable scenario is him laughing at her expense? In addition, she doesn't even know what to say.

'Hey Bell, you mind doing that again? It was so cool that now I can't stop thinking about it' doesn't sound too good, and neither does 'Hi, you remember that time you went Dracula on me? Well, it's been almost a week and I'm still going Niagara in my panties. Has that ever happened to you?'

The echoing sound of someone walking inside the dropship stops her from going on with her ridiculous fantasy. Clarke pretends to be busy with her tools as she turns her head, finding one of the delinquents looking at her shyly.

"Yes?" She smiles encouragingly.

"Hi, er...Bellamy says that he wants to talk to you"

"Thank you, I'll be out in a minute."

He nods and she's about to go back into her mind to decide if she will or won’t talk about this issue with him, when she realizes that the boy is still standing there.

Clarke raises an eyebrow in a silent question and he drops his gaze to the floor. "Uhm, it's urgent, he said."

That's just great.

She sighs and starts walking toward the exit, the guy fleeing the room as soon as he gets that his job is done.

When she reaches Bellamy's tent she still doesn't know if or how to approach the subject, and she goes inside without announcing herself, knowing that she's expected.

Obviously he's in the middle of something with random-fuck du jour. She's straddling him and she doesn't even turn her head to acknowledge Clarke's presence, she simply goes on doing whatever she's doing on his neck.

Bellamy's clearly waiting for Clarke to decide if she's ok with the setting or if they have to postpone the meeting, so he just hooks his arms loosely around the girl's waist and nods to greet her.

"Shyguy says you wanted to talk to me."

Clarke crosses her arms to her chest, trying to look at anything but them. It's not the first time he’s invited her in while he's still busy with someone, and even if she has never admitted that it gets on her nerves, it does. It makes him look like someone who doesn't care a bit about their role in the camp, and she wants to slap him because she knows he's not that kind of guy. Not anymore, at least.

"Yeah, we need to organize the last food supplies we have, and eventually make the next hunting squad." Bellamy replies coolly, apparently unaware of the octopus around his middle.

Clarke nods, biting at her bottom lip. She's suddenly feeling claustrophobic and she doesn't know why. She just needs to go out and get some fresh air. Soon.

When the girl shifts slightly, Bellamy's neck comes into view and Clarke's grip on her anger starts getting way weaker. She wonders for a second when did it happen that her anger had come into play, but the only thing that her brain registers is that the kiss mark she had seen that night is being remade in the same spot by the randomfuck.

Her hands close into fists and she breathes heavily through her nose. She has to calm down and, paradoxically, not knowing why she's feeling this way makes her even more mad.

"Zoe, come back later, I have a meeting with Clarke now."

The girl freezes for a moment, then sighs and stands up. Clarke gets one death-glare from her as she goes out of the tent.

"Is she used to it? I mean, she didn't even flinch." She can't help but ask. The way Bellamy treats his lovers has always given her an odd feeling, as if she couldn't put together the Bellamy she knows, protective and loyal, with the Bellamy he is with them.

"It may have happened another couple of times that I had to interrupt her."

"And the death threat she sent me telepathically?"

"It was always because of you that I had to stop her."

Bellamy shrugs and lays down on his makeshift bed, his shirt coming up and displaying the skin of his belly. He moves his arm to use it as a pillow and she gets a glimpse of his wrist.

"The hickey, it disappeared." Despite the perfectly emotionless expression, she can't hide the disappointment in her voice.

Bellamy raises his head to look at her. "Yes, it was pretty superficial and it faded after two days."

Clarke unconsciously touches her mark, hidden under her sleeve. She's sure that Bellamy notices it, because his lips twitch hiding a smirk.

"Next time suck harder." He teases her, letting the sneer grow into a full grin. "What about yours? Let me see it."

They should be talking about anything else, but it seems like he couldn't wait for the chance to go back to the topic, just like her. She wonders what was all that indifference about during the last days.

She kneels next to him and pulls up her sleeve. Bellamy reaches out and grabs her wrist, pulling until it is exactly above his eyes. The shade of his smile changes. "Look at my baby, all healthy and perfect." He brushes a thumb over it and Clarke shivers. Too many fantasies had begun this way.

"Bellamy..." she starts, not knowing exactly how to ask him. She really wants to do it again, to feel the soft skin under her teeth and his breathing getting faster as she turns it into a quiet torture. In her dreams she bites his neck and he groans gripping her waist, pushing her down against his groin. In her dreams he doesn't have another girl's mark on him.

When she glances at him she finds his eyes already on her.

He doesn't wait for her to articulate the question. "The hickey on my wrist, do it properly."

Clarke sighs as he moves his arm and leans it against his chest, the inside of his wrist uncomfortably turned toward her. She goes with her hand to take his arm closer, but he shakes his head.

"Come down."

"Why?" Clarke asks with a breath of voice.

When the only thing she can hear is the thudding of her heart against her ribcage, it's clear that Bellamy has no intention to answer the question. Raising her gaze from his chest to his face, a pair of dark irises are settled with an unusual focus on her, coaxing Clarke to swallow her uncertainties and lean down until her head is almost on his chest.

If she had thought that touching his hand was intimate before, now she has to reconsider her standards. This is beyond whatever kind of closeness she had had with Finn, and what keeps her on the edge is the fact that with Bellamy there has never been 'inappropriate' contact. Their lips never touched each other, their hands never roamed over hard muscles and soft valleys, they never whispered any kind of sweet feeling toward each other.

Clarke opens her mouth over his wrist, tasting the slowness of her movements, the increasing desire to finally touch what she had dreamed about the last days, but before she can actually bite down Bellamy moves again, dragging his arm upward and aligning his wrist over his mouth.

Her heart does a wild flip and she stands there with her mouth gaping, her brain working unrelentingly to calculate what would it mean to kiss his wrist with her face so close to his.

Bellamy rolls his eyes, muttering against his forearm something that sounds like "You think too much.", then grabs her by the collar of her shirt and pulls her down onto him.

Clarke loses her balance in a pretty ungracious falling of limbs, her arms trying to sustain her by leaning at the sides of Bellamy's head, her chest crushed against his. It's probably just her imagination, but she feels the thudding of both their hearts in her lips, now pressed against his wrist.

Staring at Bellamy from this position might be the most embarrassing thing she has ever done, even more because he's staring at her with the same intensity from that night, and Clarke finds herself once again acting on instinct.

She closes her eyes, opens her mouth and tilts her head on the side, brushing her lips on his skin in a delicate tingle. Bellamy's chest rises in a sigh, moving her along with him. When she bites down, he wraps his free arm around her waist, and Clarke has to swallow down a moan.

This is exactly how her dreams usually went. Only, this time she has a solid body under her and his scent blanking her mind. Unconsciously she spreads her legs, her knees touching the bed beside his thighs, realizing too late that her crotch is directly above the hardening bulge in his pants.

"Suck." Bellamy orders in a whisper under the flesh she has between her teeth. Clarke doesn't open her eyes yet, letting all her other senses wake up like from a slumber, finally free now that the sight isn't dominating how they should act. She starts sucking the skin caged between her lips and she doesn't waste time, going hard with the suction and brushing her teeth against the flesh, using her tongue only to draw it deeper inside her mouth.

The arm she has around her waist tightens his hold before caressing slowly her back. The tip of his fingers are barely perceptible over her shirt, but the light touch makes her tremble nonetheless. When his hand brushes her nape, tugging at her hair, she bobs her head to stop the bit of skin from slipping away, now that it's wet and slick.

Clarke hums, dragging her tongue along the circle bound by her teeth, and Bellamy pushes up with his hips against her, the friction so good that she sighs. She doesn't know if it's deliberate or not, so she let her eyes slowly open, completing the scene she was just feeling moments before with a rather alluring view, like a missing piece of puzzle finally finding its place.

When she lifts her eyelids enough to look at him, Bellamy greets her with eyes so dark that she doesn't see the pupils in the dim light of the tent.

Bellamy pulls his wrist, forcing her to stretch her neck to keep her morsel from springing free.

"Enough, princess." He tugs at the hair at the back of her neck as he pulls again, finally freeing himself from her bite with a loud pop.

Clarke looks at what is now a perfect circle, the angry red colour hinting that this time she has done everything by the manual.

They stay like that for several seconds, both looking at his marked arm as Bellamy's hand slowly retracts from her nape. He leans down his head against the pillow and waits for Clarke to stop inspecting her work.

The crunching of someone's shoes walking just outside the tent distracts her enough to make her remember that aside from the point she just tasted in her mouth, there's more attached to the body. She closes her mouth and feels her lips swollen for all the suction she has made them go through. Bellamy seems to have noticed too, because he's staring right at them. He gulps loudly and reality starts to creep in, interrupting their moment with too many unanswered questions, reminding Clarke that she should blush violently at this point. And maybe—just maybe—get off of him.

Problem is, she can’t find the will to do either of those, and Bellamy doesn't seem to mind. He glances at the entrance of the tent though, probably checking if there is someone close enough to eavesdrop if they start talking.

Clarke gets to admire his profile for just a moment before the hickey on his neck takes all her attention, drowning her in an unexpected wave of rage. She stiffens over him and Bellamy looks back at her, curiosity and worry flashing over his face. Is he thinking that she's regretting doing it? Or that she's just realizing how uncomfortable she is with their position? That she just went with the flow and now she's blaming him for putting her in a tight spot?

She starts talking without really meaning to. "I wonder if Finn's skin marks the same as yours."

His eyebrows shoot up, clearly not following her train of thought. "I got the hang of it now. I want to see if I can make it work on another's body. Can't really ask Finn, with Raven around, but I'll think of something."

Bellamy stays perfectly still as she talks, and Clarke can't help but fear that she's going nowhere with this, that she will indeed be alone in her misery. If only there was a way to make him understand what is going on inside her head without risking complete humiliation. She tries again then, her last attempt at acknowledging whatever this thing is, the right to be.

"I want to see if their mark on me will be different than yours." She shows her wrist, Bellamy's bite still definite on her skin.

Thank God, here Bellamy goes rigid and his lips go white as he presses them together. Clarke has to suppress the urge to smile.

"Are you feeling this, too?" She dares to ask in the end, her eyes searching for the truth in his, but too scared to actually admit that they may have found something. Bellamy frowns, feigning ignorance. It's obvious enough that Clarke doesn't feel less close to proving her point, and decides to make the first step.

"I don't like the colour she left on your neck." She still consumes all her courage for the last sentence, and she ends it with her voice going too quiet and shaken for her liking, her gaze dropping to his collarbone. "In fact, I kind of hate it." The last mumble barely reaches Bellamy's ear, but it's not like he would have paid attention to it anymore.

When the following silence becomes a solid weight in the room, Clarke sighs and goes for standing up, but Bellamy moves her arms sideways making her lose balance once again, and she falls down on him.

She starts asking a ‘What’ but has just enough time to open her mouth that Bellamy takes her marked wrist and brings it to his lips, leaning on it in what would look like a kiss if it wasn't for his eyes, angry and feral as they glare at her. It isn't romantic, he is making sure that his print still fits perfectly.

"Are you feeling this, too?" Clarke asks again, this time more confident in his feedback.

He grunts looking away for a moment before turning back on her and biting dryly at her hickey. His hickey.

"What if I am?" He replies with a hint of arrogance in his voice. It makes her giggle because he sounds unsure, just like she is. But her doubts are far from being solved, and she has no idea of what all this means for them, if it will change anything, if they should act on it or just ignore it for the sake of their current partnership.

"Clarke, you know we can't, right?" His voice comes out heavy and frustrated. "We aren't in the position to risk screwing up everything we've done."

"I know, I know. It's not like I was asking you anything." She tries but fails majestically at being the non-bothered one.

"Clarke..."

"Bellamy, what the hell, I know, ok? I just don't want to see others' lovebites on you, is that too much? Is that weird? Because if it is then I can go out there too and find someone—"

"I will kill him." He cuts in, sighing and covering his eyes with both arms. The back of her neck starts freezing the second his hand leaves the nest it had found there.

She looks down on their bodies, pressed together since the beginning of this experiment, and she marvels at the fact that she's perfectly ok with it. Like being this close to him is the most natural thing for her, the thing that her body would do instantly if it hadn't her mind shutting it up every other second.

"I just-I just don't want them to bite you. We don't have to be 'together' for that. I don't want to be together with you, if I have to be honest. I don't even like you. But somehow I want to be the one who can leave hickeys on you. And don't worry, I don't think it will be permanent, it's probably just a matter of trying something new and you being the one who taught me. It will go away and you will be able to go back to your usual rough and angry sex. Really, I won't bother you. For now, though, considering how you too seem kind of possessive of your little child on my skin, I guess we can just decide that we're the only ones who can do it. I mean, I don't have a line of guys waiting outside my tent, but you get what I mean, don't you? Because I can rephrase it—"

"Clarke, you're rambling." He lets out a low laugh, his chest vibrating under hers.

"Right. Uhm, let's try this: we'll wait until our respective marks will fade away, and then we'll see if it still bothers us."

"So you're basically saying, I don't know how to handle this, let's just wait?"

"Exactly."

"Sounds like a good plan."

Clarke smiles, relieved that they had managed to reach some kind of conclusion. Well, she can't really call it that, but at least they know what to do now. She tries to stand up again and this time he lets her. It's not the most graceful and feline move she has ever done, but she's not trying to impress him.

She walks out without saying anything and she glances quickly at him right before closing the tent behind her, finding him looking at her mark on his arm. A sudden flash of her last wet dream pops up in her mind and she sighs.

Clarke walks back to the dropship hoping that whatever they have started will fade away with the lovebites, or they both are going to have a serious problem.

Chapter Text

Clarke wakes up already sighing in annoyance. Starting the day with another wet dream about Bellamy isn't exactly what she was hoping for, and yet when she opens her eyes the memories of him fail to leave her. She sits up,  flinching as the central stripe of her panties touches the makeshift bed and she feels the mark of her own treachery.

"Good morning to me." She mutters, chafed, standing up and letting her joints crack after the usual uncomfortable night. 

She drags her left arm behind her back, resisting the urge to look at it. Her eyes stay unfocused as a second sigh forces its way up her throat, knowing that another day in her personal limbo is waiting, just for her. If only she had known the price she would pay to play her little game with Bellamy, she’d have never done it. Indeed since she had marked him, five days prior, Clarke had found herself drawn to him like a moth to the fire, suffering from sleepless nights, an attention span worthy of a little child, compulsive sighing, and that unbearably constant pull she feels every time Bellamy enters her field of vision. All this while Bellamy had not so subtly avoided every single chance of being alone with her.

Yes, she had told him to wait until the marks would disappear, but she hadn’t meant for them to not talk at all. Instead that seems the course of action Bellamy has chosen, giving orders and common messages through harbingers--and there are so many of them that Clarke is almost sure he’s giving the task to whoever he finds in front of him at the moment--and spending the rest of the time in his tent with a different girl every 18 hours. Not that she’s counting.

As their silence covers her routine in a cold blanket to the point that she starts dreading getting out of that spoof of a bed, Clarke finds some certainties: Bellamy is first and foremost her friend--and this would explain why it hurts that much getting the silent treatment--; Bellamy may not be thinking about their situation in the way she had hoped he would, but his actions are being too exaggerated not to be related to their issue; and last but not least, she genuinely hates being ignored for someone else. 

Clarke puts on the long-sleeved shirt she’s been shamelessly wearing since day 1, ignoring the goosebumps rising on her naked legs till she covers them with her dirty pants. When she starts working on putting the boots on, the adrenaline kicks in, making her heart jump wildly. Today there’s a meeting proposed by Miller--bless him--and she’ll be damned if she won’t be able to be in the same room with Bellamy for at least twenty minutes.

She frowns, thinking that it’s actually pretty pathetic having reached the point where being in the same room is a luxury, especially when last week she was all over him, breathing the air leaving his lungs. Of course she immediately screws up with the laces and has to re-tie the shoe. Steadying her hands, she starts again, only to find that it’s her bottom lip now that trembles. 

Third sigh of the day, and Clarke knows that she needs to talk to Bellamy. No, that may be hoping for too much; she needs to have him near enough to settle her nerves. He’s always been able to calm her and make her feel as if there wasn’t a thing they couldn’t face together. Only this time what is throwing her completely off balance is the embarrassing amount of new reactions to Bellamy that her body has now decided are more important than her sleep. She doesn’t know how to go back to ‘normal’, and the only one who knows what she may be going through because he was there when it started, is giving her the cold shoulder.

Despite everything that has ever happened in her life, she has never felt alone or completely powerless against an outer force. She should compliment Bellamy for being the first one ever to make her feel like that.

Above all, Clarke didn’t know that her body was capable of such an impressive amount of self control and tension. Promising to herself not to underestimate her capabilities ever again, she sets a fast pace toward the dropship, where they’ll be having the meeting at the second floor. When she realizes that if they were to ask the reason for her fast breathing and reddened face, her quick walk wouldn’t be a decent excuse, she breaks into a jog.

Since that day, Clarke has never had a doubt about what she is doing and why. As both her and her partner wait for their marks to disappear, revealing if their newborn mess has some hope of becoming something--and how going from ‘mess’ to ‘something’ is an actual step toward clarity is anyone's guess--, her body has gone in full attack mode explaining in vivid details all the reasons she can't even think of dropping the topic. "Well, seems like it was just a fluke" isn't an option, at least until her brain stops giving her porn dreams and flashbacks like a frigging PTSD victim. Waking up every morning in a puddle of her own juices has never been her idea of "waiting", and as embarrassment has crept in, she has found herself occasionally wondering if Bellamy is having the same problem. It isn't a romantic "Are you thinking about me too?", but genuine need to know that she isn't losing to him.

As they both sit with Miller, Jasper, Mira, and Gerard around the metal sheet they use as a table, organizing the next hunting group, Clarke finally has her answer. Not only has Bellamy barely talked to her during these days, avoiding a direct confrontation at every chance, but he is now shamelessly giving Mira 'the look', the one that always makes every single girl--

"Bellamy, you need someone with a spear, right? How about we go in team together? I'm very good at handling long sticks."

Oh dear Lord, please burst my eardrums and make it stop.

That's the major problem; since Bellamy has agreed with her lame plan, he's not been alone even for a minute. Mira is the fifth girl in 6 days, and for some reason Clarke feels like she's at the end of her rope.

Mira leans a hand on his left forearm, her thumb dangerously near to where her mark has probably already disappeared, and Bellamy looks straight in the girl's eyes, with a silent agreement.

"No." Escapes from her own mouth before Clarke even realizes it.

Mira looks at her in surprise, but it's Bellamy's gaze that colors her cheeks.

Don't you dare look at me like you don't know what I'm talking about.

She stands up and glances at Jasper and Miller, both waiting for her with raised eyebrows to articulate her problem.

Clarke stops for a couple of seconds, desperate to find an excuse. "The new wooden roof for the food tent. Bellamy needs to coordinate the works." It's the best she can come up with, and hopes they'll bite it.

Jasper and Miller nod faintly, probably recalling how yesterday they all had spent the day chitchatting more than actually cutting wood. Their silence is full of guilt, and Clarke is strangely ok with using it to her own advantage. Especially if it means getting in the way of yet another one of Bellamy's quick fucks. 

Mira makes a "Oh." slumping on her chair, and the disappointment in her voice is so heavy that it seems to hit the table and roll toward her. Clarke doesn't dare look at Bellamy, but she sure feels his gaze on her.

"Besides, I really need to kill something, and we'll see if you're really that good. With spears." She adds cheerfully and Mira blushes, as if she were just now realizing her lame attempt at flirting in front of everyone.

After an awful moment of silence, Bellamy sighs. "Very well." He says, nodding at Jasper, Gerard and Miller to wait for him outside. They mutter "Clarke." in salute, before reaching for the ladder that will bring them to the lower floor of the dropship, and she smiles at them, sending a "Bye guys." as Miller starts to lower himself in the hole.

Mira clearly doesn't want to leave before Clarke, and there's this really awkward moment when they both look at each other, telepathically trying to win the upper hand and get the other out of the way. Unfortunately for Mira, being the co-leader has the priority compared to a fuck buddy, and in the end Bellamy tells her that he will see her later. Clarke knows the look Mira sends her way before she leaves. She knows it too well.

"What the hell was that?" Bellamy's sudden angry tone makes her jump, and she looks at him with wide eyes, surprised by the change. His palms are on the table and he's leaning forward, menacing.

"What do you mean?" Clarke tries to feign innocence, but she doesn't even know why she bothers, it's obvious he won't buy it. And there it is, the exact face Bellamy makes when he's not believing a single breath someone is emitting. Clarke forces herself to ignore the pang in her chest.

"Don't take me for a fool, Clarke. What was that?" Bellamy raises his eyebrows, punctuating the question. Why is Clarke the one being questioned when it's Mira doing anything but thinking about their survival? It's not like Clarke's decision is a bad one; it's true that they need someone to organize the work for the roof, and it's true that she wants to kill something to distract her from killing someone. Plus, the only thing she’s done in her spare time lately has been exercising with her newly built bow, and she’s getting sick of hitting trunks.

Clarke squares her shoulders and meets Bellamy's eyes, trying not to be bothered by their coldness. "You're only pissed off because I cockblocked you, don't make it bigger than it is."

Watching Bellamy's pupils dilate in surprise over the direct approach gives her a fair amount of pride. She'd been ok at playing his game until now, but he has to know that at any time she can sidestep his plan and go straight to the point. The very same one he's been avoiding.

To his credit, he recovers fast, and in a blink of an eye his features go back to a stern mask.

"You're delusional if you think you have any power to cockblock me. Now, if you may excuse me-" Bellamy pushes with his hands against the table and gives himself the right amount of momentum to turn on his heels and head toward the ladder in one swift motion. Clarke stares at his back with wide eyes, anxiety mounting ever higher as her chance to finally confront him dies with every step he makes in the opposite direction.

"Bellamy, c'mon, don't you think--" Clarke starts, then bites her bottom lip, gulping down a hundred different possibilities to end the sentence, and every one of them is likely to make her lose her face in front of him. In the end she simply moves her left arm, rotating her wrist to make Bellamy understand. As if he didn't know already.

"We have nothing to talk about." He says, staring at her wrist as if he were angry with her hidden mark.

Clarke tries to read Bellamy’s expression and fears what she sees in it is disgust. She doesn't think she can bear the thought of him having not only regretted what they have done, but also hating it to the point of being disgusted with the simple memory of it. First the silence and then the rejection? There's only so much she can take before breaking. How can she lead the group with him if he looks at her as if her very existence personally offends him?

"I think we do. And you know it." Clarke takes a long breath and then pulls up her sleeve, revealing the mark she has been desperately ignoring for days. Looking down at it, a faint stain is all that is left, the contours blurred with her skin tone, the mark of his teeth gone as if it had never been there in the first place. As if Bellamy had never marked her. Seeing her naked wrist brings an ache in her chest, and Clarke doesn't know if she wants to cry, to kick something, or to damage herself. There's simply this pull inside her, and she knows that she'll gladly damn their friendship before she lives another day with Bellamy fading away from her skin. For some unfathomable reason she can't let her body heal from him, and she won’t.

Looking up at him, Bellamy is still halfway to the ladder, his body pointed toward the exit, with his head turned just enough to look at her. He's still staring at her wrist, the same expression of anger and disgust and God knows what else. He sighs and finally meets her eyes. "My mark disappeared two days ago, and I see that yours is not far from doing the same. Whatever was going on last week is over, and I don't want to ever talk about it again. End of the story." With that, he starts to climb down into the lower level of the dropship, leaving Clarke completely dumbfounded.

Finding somewhere the will to move, Clarke goes after him, calling his name and hoping that Bellamy won't just ignore her. Of course it's exactly what he does, reaching the lower floor and heading out in a hurry.

"Wait!" Nearly jumping, Clarke manages to grab his arm and stop his escape. "What the hell, Bellamy! What are you running away from?" She asks, though knowing the answer. The problem is not what he's running away from, but why. And it's a problem because it could mean that he doesn't want anything to do with her, and he's really rejecting her. And isn't it even more maddening the fact that it's not even her that he would be rejecting, but the very chance to talk about what they would be sharing in this...thing? He’s refusing not only the road, but the very discussion to decide with which foot they should start.

Bellamy jerks his arm away with a grunt deep from his throat. He glances behind him, possibly checking if anyone else is near the dropship, or more probably trying to calculate how to distract her enough to get away. "Don't know what you're talking about, princess."

He doesn't even look at her, and Clarke's temper flares, making her voice tremble. "Don't bullshit me. I'm worth more than that."

Bellamy closes his eyes, as if the thought of belittling her caused him harm. His nostrils widen as he exhales, and there's not a single relaxed bone in his body. Clarke still has her arm stretched out, ready to grab him at his first try to escape. 

"What do you want me to say, Clarke?" He spits out the words, annoyed.

Clarke has to think fast about her reply, and the thing that's hurting more than thinking about his mark fading on her, is hers dying on him as well. "Show me your wrist."

"No fucking way." Is his immediate answer, and Clarke gapes at him, not expecting such a direct refusal.

"You must be kidding me, we had an agreement!" Clarke punctuates the words by taking a step forward, and she gets another surprise when he steps back. "Y-you said that you would teach me, but I clearly did it wrong again. I need to learn, and I don't get why you're backing away." She says, hoping to make Bellamy stay around enough for her to find something to say that makes sense at all. 

Bellamy glares at her, his brows furrowing and his upper lip stretching until his teeth show. Clarke expects a real growl to come out from his mouth, but instead he shakes his head. “Is this the problem for you? You’re worried about your future boyfriend?” The last word gets out in a perfect bowl of acid, and Clarke stares back at him, confusion written all over her face. Her problem? So there is actually a problem for him. 

Not knowing what else to do, Clarke decides to follow him. “And what if it is? The only thing we ever did was biting wrists, which I’m fairly sure are not the usual target for hickeys.” She makes another step forward and this time he doesn’t step back, his anger pushing him to face her head on, daring her to go on and make him snap. Maybe if he does, something will change. “I’m tired of you going with girl after girl while I’m stuck here, waiting for you to come out of your own ass and keep your word.” Bellamy breathes hard, confirming to Clarke that she is indeed succeeding in making him lose it. 

“Clarke, shut up.” 

“No, you brought me into this and now you finish it! I can’t believe I thought you were mature enough to do it without freaking out--”

“Clarke…” 

“--like a baby. You want to go back to your girls? Finish this and I’ll leave you alone, you will be able to fuck whoever you want whenever you want and I’ll finally be free to do just the sa-”

Clarke is forced to swallow the end of the word as Bellamy suddenly steps forward and bites her bottom lip just when she’s about to pronounce the ‘m’. Their upper lips touch for a moment and Clarke’s blood feels like it’s setting on fire. Bellamy pulls the bottom lip until Clarke feels the stretch, too shocked to move and do anything but staring blankly at him. Then he releases it, brushing his left hand up on her arm as he speaks through clenched teeth, his anger barely subsided, “You want it that bad? Fine. Be sure to pay attention because I’m doing it only once, then we’re fucking done with this bullshit.” 

With the hand he was already bringing up, he fists her hair and forces her head to bend backward, baring her neck to him and making it difficult for her to even swallow. Clarke is still completely frozen, unable to process what has happened in the last seconds, when Bellamy tilts his head and unceremoniously opens his mouth wide, biting as much skin as he can. 

Clarke instinctively grabs both his arms, waking up with every hot breath he blows on her sensitive skin. She’s waiting for the pain, knowing that it will come and he will make sure she can barely stand it. Though, nothing had prepared her for the feeling of his tongue tasting the side of her neck, a sensation so intimate that Clarke has to force herself to remember that she’s not supposed to do more than stand still. Bellamy starts sucking hard and Clarke can’t stop from gasping a “Oh my God!”. Her eyes fall shut against her will, the feeling of the whole side of her neck being swallowed in his mouth so unexpectedly exciting that she moans, pushing herself against his body. 

Bellamy leans his free hand on the small of her back and keeps Clarke flush against his front, both uncaring of their quick breaths and the unconscious rocking of their bodies matching the movements of his mouth on her. Clarke’s hands shifts from simply holding onto him to openly pulling him, inviting Bellamy to take more and more. 

Every new twist of his tongue brings his teeth to sink deeper into her skin and Clarke to moan in pain and need. There’s no denying it, it hurts like hell, but it’s the kind of pain meaning that Bellamy is again so close to her that she feels part of his flesh, and once more she has the opportunity to feel just how right it is. 

Clarke lifts her left hand to hug him, and as the old hickey makes its appearance, a delicious tingle in her belly makes her sigh in contentment. She leans her hand on his nape, caressing his neck in slow circles and Bellamy hums, making her skin vibrate with his low timber. His arms are like marble, trapping her in a closeness she never wants to leave again. Is it possible that he’s not feeling exactly the same need she is? That this isn’t touching him as it’s touching her? 

When his bite reaches another level of painful, and she realizes that there will be no numbness from it, Clarke finally gains enough clarity to feel the rest of his body with more attention. His fingers against her lower back rhythmically clenching as if his nails were trying to dig in her like his teeth were, the fist in her hair closed way more tightly than it would if it were an automatic gesture, his hips slowly pushing against her in time with the movements of his tongue. Everything screams that this is not something he’s doing just because he has to. She’ll be damned if he isn’t enjoying it just as much as she is. 

“Bellamy…” Clarke whispers, brushing her fingers through his curls and memorizing the softness tingling her nerve endings. Bellamy groans as his lips close on the new hickey, kissing the mark before climbing up her neck, reaching her jaw and lightly biting it with the clear intent of kissing the path to her mouth. Clarke huffs heavily, waiting to have his lips on hers, feeling cuddled by his arms around her, soaking in his warmth. There’s the last little bite on her chin and then, finally, there’s only one last step to make to come home. 

Clarke comes close enough to feel his breath on her lips, then it’s like flipping a switch and he forcefully separates them, pushing her back. Clarke tries to put her foot behind to regain balance, but the force of his push is stronger and she ends up falling down, her ass hitting the metallic floor and creating a bang that echoes in the room for the whole time they stare at each other, both shocked out of their wits. Clarke doesn't have the time to say anything before Bellamy almost flies out of the room.

***

For the next 4 days Clarke completely avoids Bellamy. Not like she’s doing it on purpose, but between her hunting raids and his managing the “builders”, they don’t have the necessity to make contact. Strangely enough, even her dreams give her some rest, finally allowing her to sleep like a normal person. Sleeping better means being more relaxed, eating better, working better, hunting faster. In less than a week she regains the health that was leaving her during her Bellamy-obsessed period. As the mark on her neck gets angrier in color, Clarke feels more balanced than she’s been in a long time. Maybe it really was as Bellamy and her had supposed; once their curiosity was satisfied, they would go back to normal. 

Clarke is a little embarrassed to admit that it’s a relief not having to worry about her changing relationship with Bellamy. No more anxiety attacks about Bellamy rejecting her, no more despair for Bellamy’s impossible antics. Life can finally go back to normal, and she can embrace again the certainty of having Bellamy close, as a partner. So it’s like looking Death in the eyes when she wakes up in the middle of the night after having dreamt about Bellamy fucking her from behind against the table of the second floor of the dropship. 

Clarke somehow manages not to whimper like a child, and opts for a more mature though disturbingly familiar sigh, already accepting the old, exhausting routine. She tries to go back to sleep but the fear of seeing that Bellamy keeps her awake. It takes only a moment for Clarke to fall again, like an amnesiac suddenly regaining their memory; the thought of her imaginary Bellamy touching her in ways that real Bellamy never will, breaking her heart again and again. Who was she kidding?

Clarke gets up and wears her jacket, deciding to clear her head before trying to get some decent rest. 

The cold air is a welcome gift against her face, and breathing it in she can pretend it's all that it takes to cleanse her, to erase Bellamy from her mind one exhale at a time. Instinctively walking through the camp to the place where it all had begun, Clarke smiles self-deprecatingly at her own weakness. She deserves some honesty, at least from herself, and Bellamy can't be farther from being released from her thoughts than he was when he had bolted for the door four days ago.

As if she had summoned him, Clarke reaches the station guard to find Bellamy sat with his back on her, his head slightly lowered as if some indistinct point beneath him could untie his thoughts. Clarke takes a few moments to simply look at him when he's unguarded, a privilege she was convinced she had earned with sweat and blood, and that she had lost in less than 24 hours with a simple bite on the wrist. One has to admit that there's talent in that.

Busy calculating how she should approach him--not even mentioning, IF she should do it--he turns his head and meets her eyes. His whole body immediately tenses up, and damn it if it isn't a bad sign, coming from him.

Bellamy drags his left hand over his face, without saying anything but without stopping staring at her either. He seems to ponder about the best course of action, but then he frowns as if he were going to regret his choice, lifts up the torch next to him and turns it to point it at his left wrist, as he offers it to her.

Clarke was sure she had already felt shock until then. She had been with her mother in the medical ward for years, watching people die, feeling their life slip away through her fingers. She thought she had felt it all. But there was still something that had to touch her on a different level, apparently. Her feet and hands go numb as she feels the blood leaving her heart for good.

"I...I d-don't understand," Clarke stutters, finding herself rubbing the skin of her chest as if she could somehow make that painful itch stop. "Why?"

She doesn't really hope he will give her an answer, but she can't help but ask nonetheless. Clarke stares at his wrist and can't imagine a single reason such a thing could have made sense. The only possible explanation from her point of view is that he wanted to hurt her. He had totally succeeded.

"I had to." Bellamy answers after a few seconds, his voice thick with an unknown emotion as he lets his wrist fall to his side, hiding the spot where Clarke's mark once had been, and now an angry canvas of new bites covers it.

"Do I disgust you that much?" Clarke wonders in what is barely more than a whisper, and Bellamy gets to hear it only because the wind suddenly rises and carries her message. He shakes his head, lifting again his left hand to pass his fingers through his hair. 

"Then what, Bellamy? Throw me a bone here, because I can't fucking understand what's going on with you!"

Bellamy sighs, covering his face with both hands and leaving Clarke with the fear of being in the middle of some kind of crisis, because she has never seen him closing himself so much against something. And she still doesn't know what is his problem to begin with.

"Bellamy?" Clarke calls, but he stays completely still, until he moves and turns away from her, going back to the position he had before she arrived. Anger mounts in Clarke's veins and there's no way she can avoid nearly shouting.

"BELLAMY!!!"

He jumps down from the station and he's on her with his hand on her mouth in an instant. "Do you want to wake up the whole camp?! Have you lost your mind??" He hisses angrily. Clarke tries to shove him, but he puts the other hand on her nape and presses harder with the one on her mouth, nearly cutting off her air in the process. Her eyes stare at him in an unfamiliar pang of fear, because she doesn't know this Bellamy who’s cutting her out, and even if there aren't reasons for her not to trust him, somehow he's making her stand on her toes with anxiety.

"Calm down and fucking listen to me!" He shakes her, making Clarke wonder if she’ll end up being pushed down like in the dropship, but he doesn't let go of her and when she focuses on his eyes, she sees Bellamy looking down at her with what looks like guilt. If only she could understand what it means.

His thumb starts brushing her nape, a caress that seems like an unconscious gesture as he looks at his feet searching for the right words, but it works to calm her anyway. Clarke starts relaxing against him, and the solid grip she had on his arms shifts until she's simply holding the hem of his jacket near his waist. The hand on her mouth is way too warm and humid, shot by a slight tremor she notices every time the thumb on her nape isn't distracting her. She realizes that he’s nervous, and something about that makes her go even more still. 

“I can’t, Clarke. We run this fucking place together, and I can’t put you first.” He confesses at the end, his voice suddenly going deep, his face a mask of vulnerability finally breaking to the surface. Clarke frowns, shaking her head, trying to talk against his hand and tell him that he’s got it all wrong, but he presses harder against her lips. “I would, princess.” 

Clarke stares at him, searching for answers she can’t ask. Is this what has been troubling him all this time? Their role and what would it mean if they got together? God, was he thinking about them together all the while she was obsessed with fucking him? Was it possible that Bellamy was daring taking all this more seriously than she’d ever hoped for?

"So, let's just forget about all of this, ok?" He sounds so hopeful that Clarke for a little moment takes into consideration doing exactly what he's saying. The last four days had been calm and productive, she had felt strong and focused. She would be able to have all that, plus Bellamy at her side. As she counts the pros and cons, Bellamy lets his hand on her mouth drop, brushing her lips with his fingers so slowly that it has to be intentional.

She would never have this again.

"Why this?" Clarke asks looking down at his hand, grateful because she has yet to see his marks from this close, and she's fairly sure that she won't ever be ready for that.

Bellamy purses his lips, the hand on her nape tensing for a couple of seconds before he goes back to drawing lines on her skin. He has yet to step back, but Clarke won't be the one pushing him away. "I thought it would help."

“Did it?” 

Bellamy’s silence would have been cue enough, but then he decides to add, “None of them did, and I’m so damn tired of forcing myself to run.” He’s staring down at her mouth and Clarke would just love to do the same, if only she weren’t so busy flattering herself by studying his lowered eyelids. “We were never supposed to feel it.” His right hand brushes her left one, still gripping his jacket. His fingers slowly crawl to her wrist, encircling it in a soft grasp.

“It’s all your fault, just for the record.” Clarke has to swallow before being able to articulate a logical answer. They were furious only seconds ago, the change is so drastic that her head is spinning. His head does a little movement forward and her heart jumps in her throat, but then he goes back again, frowning, probably reminding himself that they can’t indulge without irreparably complicating their relationship. And it’s not like Clarke isn’t sharing his worries. The only certainty she has is that they would still do the best for the delinquents.

Bellamy’s left hand touches her mark on the side of her neck. His mark. Clarke closes her eyes, correcting herself: this is another certainty, that they have accidentally marked each other and there’s no going back from that. Bellamy was right, they weren’t supposed to feel this electricity, not like this; their dynamic was balanced enough to let them take advantage of their natural chemistry and use it to work better for the group. They’d never stopped for a moment to ask themselves what would happen if they were to turn that energy toward each other. 

As she opens her eyes, she finds Bellamy staring again at her mouth, his breathing quickening with every passing second. “I’ve run out of cons. Got any idea on how to make this work?” He closes the question with a little smile, his fingers leaving her wrist and going back till they reach hers. 

Clarke usually loves rationalizing everything and knowing exactly what she’s doing and why, but for the love of God she can’t muster the will to form a single rational thought, when the only thing her mind is screaming is his name. She’s so close to finally reaching him. “Can we figure it out later?” She says in the end, copying his line from a life ago. Clarke steps forward and her feet end up between his, her whole body just mere inches from fusing with his. 

Bellamy’s smile widens as their fingers entwine and their heads slightly tilt in opposite directions. “Whenever you’re ready.” He whispers, closing in till his lips finally press on hers.