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"Bellamy,would you hurry up please?” Clarke wraps her arms around herself and stands as closeto the trunk of the tree as she can so that she’s offered the most protection from the rain.
“What’s the hurry?” He calls back, having to raise his voice to be heard over the rain and thunder. “We’re already soaked through; there really isn’t any point in rushing.”
“We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you wanna stop and feel the rain?” She calls back in disbelief.
“Sure, why not?” He tilts his head back and flings out his arms.
Clarke rolls her eyes and takes a step towards him, “The others will be worried.”
“We told them we’d be back late, besides it raining; they’ll think that we’re waiting it out in a cave somewhere or something.” Bellamy lowers his gaze until he meets her eyes. Clarke can see the water dripping off his curls and eyelashes, making its way past the collar of his jacket.
“Fine,” She gives is with a sigh which she’s sure to make as exasperated as possible, just so he knows that she’s annoyed and that this whole ordeal is a hassle.
“But when we get sick just know that it’s on you.” She slips her jacket off and leaves it under the relative dryness of the tree before walking over to Bellamy and getting pelted by the rain.
“I’ll take full responsibility if you get sick,” He tells her, reaching out to push her now soaking hair out of her face.
“You’d better.” She grumbles, but it’s more because it’s expected of her than anything else.
“Why do you like this anyway? I’m wet and cold.” She ducks her head as more thunder goes off overhead.
“It’s a part of being on earth,” He tells her with a shrug, “There was never anything like this on the Ark.”
He has a point, Clarke supposes. Everything on the Ark was carefully planned and executed, nothing like the wild unpredictability of the earth and its weather.
And there certainly weren’t any thunder storms.
“Come here,” He tells her, holding out a hand.
Clarke takes it and steps into his space. She grips a fistful of sopping wet jacket in one hand and wet curls in the other, tugging his head down towards hers.
He rests one hand on her hip, fingers curled into the wet fabric of her jeans, and the other comes up to cup her jaw. He brushes his thumb over her lip once before kissing her.
Clarke lasts maybe ten seconds before she pulls away laughing.
“What?” Bellamy asks, a pout taking over his face.
“I don’t know why that was so popular in old movies.” Clarke says, shivering and reaching up to shove her hair back out of her face. “We’re wet and freezing.”
“That is true,” Bellamy says, tucking her under his arm and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You want to head back?”
“Please,” Clarke says and they start walking back to camp. She scoops up her jacket as they pass and she folds it over her arm. “Next time you want to go out in a storm, remind me not to go.”
“Sure thing Princess.”