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❣❣
‘Tis the season to be jolly and yet, Clarke is the furthest thing from jolly.
She rubs her temple, today’s surgeries and paperwork are finally getting to her. Her feet are aching, her head is thumping, the only thing that’s making this holiday party bearable is the Champagne buzzing in her veins.
Through the course of her career so far she’s mastered shoving down the aches of her body that communicate that she needs to slow down and take a beat. She pushes through the pain because with every minute she rests and slows down she could be saving a life. Or maybe because she doesn’t want the pains of her personal life that she bottles up to catch up with her, but she won’t admit that. But when she does slow down, because she’s human and hospitals have policies, that’s when she feels the weariness wash over her.
“Can’t I just go home” she mumbles hunched over the marble counter. The wine really is kicking in and she just wants to face-plant into her very expensive sheets and very empty bed, that last part stinging a little. But here she is on Christmas eve eve, in an expensive little number Champagne dress and Jimmy Choo heels, her usual ponytail traded for thick waves falling to her shoulders. She doesn’t even know why she put in this much effort.
“Yes, you do,” a small voice says in the back of her mind, offering her a name that she shoves down quickly.
“And do what? Drink by yourself?” Gaia snickers, teasingly “at least here you get to drink with your friends and co-workers.”
She scoffs still not looking at her friend, “pretty sure I’m already drunk and…These people are barely my friends.”
“Ouch.”
Clarke rolls her eyes, turning her head slightly to the side that’s still resting on her arms. “Not you obviously, but other than you, who just became my friend in the last two months by the way,” she points out and Gaia shrugs with smirks. “Wells, Murphy, and Emori are the only friends I have here, everyone else is a co-worker.”
Bellamy’s a friend , the voice in her head offers but she scoffs it off. She can barely call Bellamy a friend, or she can but she’s pretty sure he wouldn’t. Clarke loves her small bubble of friends, but she is a workaholic who mostly survives on granola bars, whatever snacks she can get her hands on—and wine.
“And don’t you want to continue getting shit-faced and watching these coworkers make fools of themselves? Hopefully by doing something very embarrassing that you can hold over them for the rest of their lives?” Gaia chuckles, voice coated in mischief as she swirls her Champagne in a total impish way.
Clarke won’t lie, it does sound interesting. She doubts anyone will top last year’s debacles when Doctor McIntyre and Doctor Green fell out of one of the closets half-naked because they forgot to lock the door. Clarke doesn’t want to admit that Christmas is a particularly hard time for her having lost both her parents so close to the holiday. So she usually throws herself into work or gets too drunk to remember any of it, dissolving the ache in her chest that’s frozen there. Tonight she’s settling for the latter.
“And besides…” Gaia cuts her glance from somewhere in the huge rooftop that’s decorated in draping Christmas lights and hanged mistletoes, and a white Christmas tree at the center with fake presents underneath. “Dr. Blake hasn’t taken his eyes off of you tonight” she whispers and Clarke’s heart plunges to her stomach, everything feeling hot inside of her all of a sudden. It must be the wine, definitely the wine.
Firstly, Dr. Blake? She scoffs at that because Gaia and he are practically families, and she is pretty sure Gaia is just messing with her but that did not stop her entire body from exploding in the heat.
She sees Bellamy leaning against a wall, a glass of what looks like whiskey in his hand. He looks handsome in a black button-down shirt and black jeans and boots, a different look from his usual doctor look.
Okay, maybe she and Bellamy have had what some may (and have) call sexual tension. They were at each other’s throats all through their intern year. He thought she was a privileged princess and she thought he was a know it all who was hell-bent on making everyone else’s life as miserable as him. Somewhere along the way it all simmered but their banter continued, sometimes it almost seems…flirtatious.
Then there was last week, a moment so brief Clarke sometimes thinks she imagined the whole thing. Yet it was so hot and heavy she still feels the phantom of his breath on her skin.
She was well into the twelfth hour of her shift, she’d had back to back surgeries and she was just going to rest her eyes in the on-call room when she hit right into a hard body, immediately engulfed in a scent she knew so well because it lingered inside of her every time he was in the room. The room was dark only light cascaded through the hinges of the door. He smells like nature: warm, sweet, and clean. She’d swallowed heavy but made no attempts to step away from him or remove her hands from the hard muscles of his stomach, she fully registered his big, strong hand on her hip still there that he’d used to steady her.
Intoxicating , that’s the word that comes to mind every time Clarke thinks about that brief, striking moment. He’d ducked his head to get closer or she’d tiptoed or they’d both met each other halfway. All Clarke knows is she was somewhat suspended in time feeling Bellamy Blake’s hot breath on her lips. He’d barely brushed his lips on hers, but she felt him everywhere. Her heart was in her throat, she could feel herself getting slick between her legs, her blood was running hot. She wanted him. She needed him. His fingers dug in her hip bone but right before she could say fuck it and claim his lips his pager buzzed then hers and they never really talked about it.
Clarke maybe have woken up the next morning from a dream that required a cold shower, and she may or may not have been avoiding him ever since. Clarke curses Gaia because now she feels Bellamy’s gaze everywhere where she goes.
She and Bellamy have had… moments. None of them are that hot. During some late nights after soul-crushing surgeries, she has wandered to the rooftop a place that has also happened to be Bellamy’s safe space, and most days they’ve sat in silence, and… some days they have found themselves going into the conversation. She asks him about books, that’s something that gets him talking but their moments are brief sometimes… awkward, she always thinks he wants to say something but bites his tongue.
Clarke is in a haze trying and failing to make conversation because she feels stuffy and just wants to go home. An arm is wrapped around her shoulders as Dr. Roberts shows her yet another photo of her newborn both she and Maia turn to find Jasper holding a mistletoe above as embarrassment and panic washes over “Jasper?” she reprimands through clenched teeth. Here is his wife showing her pictures of their beautiful son, with his pink ears and a button nose and he is holding a mistletoe above them.
But Jasper doesn’t seem the least fazed, he just rolls his eyes as a mischievous grin spreads across his face “Dr. Griffin please…” he chuckles “I’m not that kind of man…” he gestures with his head at the person behind her when Clarke turns and is met with dark curls and a back she knows to be Bellamy’s but before she can turn and pin Dr. Jordan with a murderous glare he calls out “Dr. Blake…”
She can’t make a run for it because Bellamy turns his eyes meeting her, his expression softens a small smile curling the side of his lips “Hey….” He clears his throats like he was just caught doing something he isn’t supposed to, was it how he said her name with a breath akin to relief? “Dr. Griffin…” he says a little more guarded this time, his eyes still on hers till they drop to her lips for a second her body already buzzing with need.
“Dr. Blake…” she says with a breath.
“I know it’s a little juvenile especially amid great minds like ours but…” Jasper’s voice drips with sarcasm “But it is tradition” he tsk his eyes trailing at the mistletoe he is still holding this time a little closer between her and Bellamy. Bellamy’s eyes dart to where Jasper is gesturing and they quickly flicker back to Clarke’s. like it couldn’t get any worse because Bellamy’s staring at her muddled and it seems they are drawing a crowd that’s chanting kiss kiss kiss. She shouldn’t expect any less from drunk doctors and stuff of Arkadia general.
She could say no, runoff, or grab Bellamy and press her lips to his. She swallows her heart pounding against the walls of her chest, her hands feel clammy. She looks around and her friends are looking at her also cheering, just great.
She steps closer, his eyes still softly staring at her, how is she not supposed to grow weak in the knees when he is looking at her like that? “We don’t have to do this” he whispers.
Maybe it’s the alcohol in her system that makes her shake her head and decide to go for it. This might be the only chance she has to determine maybe this “Crush” is just a fluke. “We might as well, they won’t let this go,” she says gesturing to the crowd. The first thing she registers is him closing the space between them, his hand on her waist the other slipping to her neck. His lips are full and sweet against hers tasting like whiskey and something sweet. Her skin is humming, cheeks warm and her heart is plummeting.
She fists his shirt as his mouth deeps against hers, she hears a small groan escape his mouth and before she can moan into his mouth she pulls away. Just kissing someone shouldn’t set your whole body on fire, yet here she is consumed by fire. Yeah, it’s more than just a crush… she thinks.
Both of them are breathing a little too heavily after kissing like that in from of their co-workers who are gasping and cheering. He searches her eye and all she wants to do is be with him away from these eyes but instead, she smiles and sends him a curt node and walks away. She needs more wine.
Her friends of course have a million questions, some even saying they sensed that there was a thing between her and Bellamy.
she can still feel Bellamy on her lips, she can feel him… everywhere. She’s stolen a few glances his way, a small smile curling on her lips as she watches him float across bodies. She knows he isn’t big on people, but he can charm his way around donors. He is feared and respected and in some parts, adored.
Being a beautiful, tall dark, and handsome man with fluffy dark hair and freckles that dust across your face like stars in the night sky who also happens to be a pediatrician, one of the best in the country, gets you adored by many even though you may be a grumpy hard-ass sometimes.
After one more hour of trying to avoid Bellamy and her emotional turmoil, and after countless numbers of Champagne and eggnog Clarke is stumbling out the doors of Arkadia general hospital, tilting her head heavenwards inviting in fresh hair instead of the tension-filled air with Bellamy. Thick cold snow dust across her face, she tries to summon some sort of power from the universe that will help her communicate to her Uber driver who she is, to call where she needs to go because she can barely remember her own name right now.
Clarke grew up loving Christmas and New Year’s Day but now, now it’s just a constant reminder of what she has lost, of what she’s never getting back. She’ll never get to visit her parents staying over during the holidays wearing ugly Christmas sweaters like she did when she was younger, waking up the smell of hot cocoa and cinnamon, knowing a big mug was waiting for her downstairs with her dad already swaying to his usual Christmas playlist while waiting for her so they can bake cookies and decorate themselves while her mom cuddled up on the couch and read. She would trade all the money in the world to have them back.
“Hey, hey, hey, hey…” a concerned, gravelly voice echoes in from somewhere around here, it takes her a minute clear through her drunken haze and to look through her teary eyes to register Bellamy crouched in front of her, his hands on her knees his hair dipping to his forehead.
When did she start crying?
When did she sit on this curb?
Where did Bellamy Blake come from? She was alone a second ago.
“Clarke, hey, what’s wrong?” he asks again but she can’t form a coherent sentence. That look he is giving her with soft eyes, pure unfiltered concern makes her want to leap into his arms and feel the warmth of his skin hoping the ache in her chest will disperse. “Did someone do something to you?” he asks, livid.
Hoping the words will swim past her lodged throat, she shakes her head and says, “No one did anything.” Bellamy’s face relaxes a little. She heaves out a breath from deep inside her “I’m just really hurting Bellamy,” she croaks; drunk Clarke is a little more inclined to spill her guts to someone she can’t even call a friend. “I miss my mom and my dad and our Christmas cookies…” she swallows with a sniff eye dropping to where he is touching her knees. “I’m twenty-seven years old so I know I sound pathetic…”
He leans in closer cutting her off quickly curling a finger under her chin gently lifting her head so she can look at him. His brown eyes glow with a softness that warms her heart, his voice coats in an emotion akin to earnestness and concern and understanding. Snowdrifts from the sky dusting his dark hair “You’re not pathetic…neither is missing your parents. Do you hear me?” His voice is firm but soft, his eyes pleading with her to believe his words.
She manages a nod, grief still swirling inside of her. It’s weird that with that look, and his hands on her knees, and that voice are anchoring her to the ground right now, keeping her from spinning even more and succumbing to the need to get home and drown herself in vodka.
His hands drift to her arms, “Come here, hey, come on…” he helps her to her feet as she stumbles a bit. She stares at his eyes as he brushes her skin with the back of her hand sending a chill down her spine “You’re a great kisser…” she mumbles.
He smiles down at her, flashing those dimples “I was just about to pay you the same compliment”. That Bellamy scent engulfs her as he brings her close to his chest, his hand cups the back of her head, the other one securing her waist as she sobs against him.
☪☪
Clarke buries herself into the sheets some more when she feels herself stirring awake. Her head feels like it’s being run over by a truck over and over. Her sheets feel soft and cloudy, but they don’t smell like her sheets they smell like... oh shit.
She sits up a little hastily and of course, her brain whooshes inside her head as punishment, thanks to the alcohol she downed last night. She’s in Bellamy’s room. She forces her eyes to open wider, pushing through her throbbing head as she takes in the room. It’s a vast contract from her room. Hers is white splashed with pops of color while Bellamy’s in shades of dark blues and greys, it’s neat and beautiful.
She checks if she’s naked, she’s not but she isn’t in her clothes either. Fuck.
Bellamy puts her in his shirt, she stares at the black Henley covering her, panic coursing through her veins. But before she can spiral further glimpses of last night’s memories thrusts through her mind. She remembers crying. Fuck. She remembers sobbing against his chest and then doubles fuck. Let an asteroid drop on her now, she puked on him.
It’s all in a blur but snippets play in her head of being in a house, his appearance, then she puked on him again. She nearly screams in her hands. Images of him helping her out of her dress as she cries about her parents and… peanut butter?? What the hell was that about?
Shit. Shit. Shit.
The sooner she gets out of here the better, she’d rather loathe herself in her apartment thank you very much. She rushes out of his bed, his scent wafting all around her sending jolts of warmth and something else that makes her tingle in all the right places. She can see the sun softly peeking through the blinds. She can’t find her clothes; mortification gives way to curiosity as she allows herself to take in Bellamy’s room. This is very close to how she imagined it, yes she’s imagined it no point in denying it now.
Part of his room isn’t painted instead its beautiful dark exposed break, he has a few photography art pieces on his wall, her fingers trail over the Iliad book placed on top of other books piled on his dark- wooden desk, she remembers him going into meticulous details about this book during their intern year.
There is a small mahogany bookcase and a blue velvet chair facing the window. that warm fuzzy feeling of being in his room, taking a peek into his life, his head that he seems to have heavily guarded washes over her. She rushes to his bathroom, relieving herself. A sigh of relief escapes her lips when she looks in the mirror and sees that her face isn’t stained with smudged mascara. She doesn’t know how that’s possible though unless Bellamy cleaned off her make up too. Her heart hammers against her ribcage as she decides there are way too many bewildering emotions swirling inside her.
Aromas of buttery pancakes, hot chocolate, and bacon lead her as she hops down the swirled staircase that takes her from his room to the beautiful open space of his living room and kitchen that’s divided by a black and white marble island.
Exposed break, photography art enclosed in glass hang on the wall, three bookcases ‘shocker’, a comfy looking dark blue sofa and a white decorated charismas tree.
Christmas music fills the space as she gets a clear view of Bellamy sizzling something on the pan in a grey cotton sweater and sweatpants, hair all tussled, shit he looks good. Stay on track, Clarke she reminds herself as she makes her way to the kitchen.
“Wouldn’t have pegged you as a Christmas enthusiast,” she chuckles nervously leaning against the counter.
He turns his head to face her, a small smile gracing his lips. “And why is that…?” his voice is playful, brow raised at her.
She shrugs, “I don’t know. You just never showed that you were.”
“Those are work holiday parties Clarke, was I supposed to show up in a full-on embroidered Christmas sweater and reindeer ears?” He smirks.
Gosh, she loves his playful side. Too bad she doesn’t get to see it often. Sadness creeps in realizing they’ll probably go back to a few fleeting friendly moments and back to their respective departments, she swallows that ache down, smiling back at him. “I would’ve loved to see that actually, so yes.”
He turns with a sizzling pan of bacon, sliding the pieces on the pancaked stacked plate. Her eyes dart around the counter, hot chocolate that he is now offering to her, she takes the cup and bites her tongue with how good it tastes. She keeps her eyes on his suddenly feeling hot and exposed as his eyes subtly slide down her body. She’s wearing just his shirt, shit. His jaw ticks as glances away sliding one of the plates to her, clearing his throat he says, “sit, please. Have some breakfast.”
She takes another sip of her coffee, hoping it will replace whatever Bellamy just injected inside of her with his loaded stare. “Maybe I should go,” she says in a hushed tone. He turns to face her, jaw tense but only for a second, she almost misses it. Does he not want her to go? If she’s being honest she doesn’t want to either. She wants to sit on his couch, in his shirt, drinking hot chocolate and getting to know this man she may or may not have a crush on away from the nosy eyes of the hospital. “Thank you, really for holding me while I made a fool out of myself, for…” she groans, embarrassment washing over her, “not leaving my drunk ass on that curb after I threw up on you…”
“Do you really think I would do that?” he asks, dazed.
She answers quickly hating that look on his face. “No, of course not Bellamy… I was just saying. I am just saying… thank you for cleaning my face and letting me sleep in your bed…”
“I slept on the couch, my guest bedroom is a little piled with boxes,” he says, “And your dress, I- is cleaned, I didn’t look when taking it off,” he says nervously.
She stutters for second processing his words and that look for a second. She sighs “Thanks for that…” she says finally nibbling on her bottom lip as the next song starts, ‘All I want for Christmas is you,’ just perfect timing. She groans inwardly, she swears her face grows so hot she might just melt right there and then. Bellamy is staring at her with soft eyes and emotion she can’t quite place her bare-legged with his shirt on, plus the damn song it’s too much. The tension is thick between them. “Thank you. For all of it Bellamy,” she breathes.
He takes a few steps, standing in front of her, she tilts her head up to look at his brown eyes. “You didn’t make a fool out of yourself Clarke, I understand your pain. And I’m glad I got to be there for you…” he says so sincerely her heart floats. He swallows, still standing close, “if you have time, before any plans you might have later… you can stay… eat some breakfast, shower...”
She should be saying thank you, but I have to go because I’m confused by my thumping heart and my thoughts than tripping over each other every second because I think I like you, very much but I know you don’t like me like that and on impulse, I got you a signed copy of The Song of Achilles because you’ve mentioned it before and I thought you might like it. You confuse me, this being near you is confusing me so I should go, but instead, she says, “okay.”
A grin splits his face exposing those dimples, ‘Yeah?”
She nods, “yeah.”
Her heart beats erratically against the walls of her chest at the reality of the day with Bellamy, half-naked, in his home trying to forget that little moment they shared in the on-call room, a moment that seems to be weighing hard on her since she woke up in his bed, now she smells like him. Intoxicated.
Clarke offers to help with setting up breakfast in Bellamy’s living room, but he insists that he has got it. There is heaviness in the way he has been looking at her since she came downstairs, there is a knowing glint in his eyes, probably his mind spinning like hers going back to that moment in the on-call room.
She leaves him to it, taking in the photos that are placed on top of his fireplace. She’s met his sister before just a couple of times, they have the same strong sharp features, eyes that could split you in half, and jawlines that can cut glass just like their mom. She smiles at the picture of him, Miller, Harper, Gaia, and Monty at the beach. He seems, relaxed. She loves that look on him. The softness of his look this morning makes her crave him.
When she first met him they barely saw eye to eye, they couldn’t be more different but then they eased into each other, just at the edge of what could be friends, but they never quite made the landing. Instead, they were thrust around each other because of the mutual friends they shared. She was thankful for that though, it allowed her to be around him.
There are quite a few photos of him and his family in Christmas sweaters posed in front of a Christmas tree, guess he has always been in the Christmas spirit. The pain cuts through her when she realizes that he lost his mother too, she went to her funeral. The holidays can’t be easy for him either. She cuts her teary eyes from the Christmas photo to one when he was a kid, like 4 years old. Sitting in the snow with the biggest grin on his face, her chest warms at the sight.
She swallows hard, trying to gain her composure when she hears Bellamy’s voice “breakfast is set, we can watch a Christmas movie. Do you have a favorite?”
She blows out a breath hoping she’s done enough to compose herself but when she turns by the look on his face she didn’t do a very good job. He cuts across the room to her, his hands gently cupping her face her hand holding on to his sweater on the side for some reason, maybe to keep balance or simply because she wants to be engrossed in him “Are you okay? Clarke?”.
She breathes, smiling to ease his worry “I’m fine Bellamy…” her voice wavering “I was just thinking about how holidays can’t be easy for you either… I know your sister left when she got married, and then with your mom gone,” she whispers the last part eyes trialing to her feet.
She hears him sigh “Look at me…” he draws her attention back to his face, his eyes are soft and a little sad “I do miss her, and I talk to my sister a lot and I’m always welcome to spend holidays with her and her new family but yeah, it’s hard. My dad passed when I was very little, I barely remember him and my mom…” he chuckles without a hint of sadness “She loved Christmas, I mean that woman had the Christmas bug from November first…” they both chuckled at that “We didn’t have much, but she still managed to make it special, it’s hard celebrating this holidays at all…this” he gestures with one hand at the Christmas lights and tree and presents, “it was all Miller and Gaia’s doing…”
Sadness creeps heavily inside of her, “Bellamy…” she whispers his name.
“I’m fine though, this Christmas isn’t looking bad so far,” his thumb brushes against her skin, sending shivers down her spine. “I love the company I have,” he grins at her and she’s unable to contain her own.
“I’m sorry that I keep breaking down in front of you,” she chuckles pitifully.
He steps closer, her breath catching in her throat his eyes pinning her in place. “Stop apologizing, please. I know it’s been weird with us since the day we met but I would like it if was someone you’d be comfortable enough to come undone in front of me, and I’ll try my best to help you back together, okay?”
How does she explain that with those words and that look he is completely penetrating the walls of her chest? She has had a crush on him but this, this is different. It’s like a layer has been peeled and they are getting even more insight into each other. “You can do the same with me,” she assures, sniffing back tears.
He rubs her tears away with his thumb then, her heart completely plunges when he kisses her forehead “Come on, he takes her head leading her to the couch while remaining in shock.
One hour turns into two, then three, then four, and through that, they’ve shared comfortable silence as they watch one Christmas movie after another, he tried to play die-hard and they had a lengthy debate, Clarke arguing that die-hard is not a Christmas movie and him arguing that it is. They have talked about everything and anything.
He told her about how one Christmas when he and his sister were very young, they rented out a movie that was supposed to be a Christmas movie while their mom had a shift at work, but it turned out to be a horror and that’s how their tradition of watching horror movies on Christmas was born. She laughed at that and told him how she’s a scaredy-cat, she can’t sit through a horror movie.
She told him about how her dad decorated their entire house and front yard, her baking cookies tradition with her dad, how her parents would have a little too much eggnog and sing Christmas carols.
Somewhere along the way, their conversation shifted towards their careers because of course. She did not expect both of them to openly admit just how much they admire each other’s work and follow each other’s fellowships. But it makes Clarke blissful that she isn’t the only that has been keeping tabs.
Nearing noon Clarke asked to be excused so she can take a shower, once she was done she put Bellamy’s shirt back on and borrowed some socks, and let her hair loose this time around, and now here they are preparing lunch together. Though, still in unfamiliar territory, there is heavy flirting and tension that she can’t be the only one feeling it. Clarke decides that she can’t possibly go back to her apartment not knowing what this pull with Bellamy is, and she can’t go back to work where they’ll act like the on-call room moment and her being in his house, in his bed never happened.
He turns towards her cutting through her haze as he holds a spoon to her mouth. “Try this” she swallows the creamy deliciousness practically moaning out loud and regretting it when she sees Bellamy’s face flush and jaw tick “A man who can cook, be still my heart,” she says flirtatiously with chuckles.
He clears his throat paying attention back to the stove while her legs continue to dangle from the island where she’s currently sitting on top of. “I’m glad you like it, and the chef,” he smirks, looking at her for a moment over his shoulder.
Clarke feels her face running hot again. “Are you sure there isn’t anything else I can help with?”
She can hear the smile in his voice even though he isn’t facing her. “No, just continuing drinking your wine I’m practically done.
“That I can do,” she nibbles her bottom lip. A beat of silence then she decides to go for it. “Hey, can I ask you something?”
He turns the burner off, coming to stand by her side, leaning a hip against the counter arms crossed his chest, probably thrown by the seriousness in her tone. “Sure.”
“Why didn’t you ever bring up our, you know…our moment.”
For a moment he just stares at her and it feels like the air is being sucked out of the room, a small bout of nerves in the pit of my stomach. Should she have left it alone and just enjoy his company now? No, she had to. Her bare leg brushes up against his arm when he finally says, “did you want me to?” he finally asks his voice hushed and gruff
“Yes,” she answers quickly.
A small smile curls his lips, relief clouding his features as he leans off the counter and walks between her legs. And just like that, her body reacts to his igniting a fire that scorches every part of her. He looks down between them, a nervous tick she’s noticed over time, his eyes stare into hers again. “Honestly?” he asks with a sigh, and she nods. “I figured I’d scare you away.”
She did not expect that answer. Her chest constricts at the admission, “how?” She whispers
His face is so close, his hands are on her waist, she wraps hers around his neck, loving the intimate intense moment being shared. Her heart catches in her throat waiting to hear more. “I like you,” he says with sensation.
She smiles, drawing in a breath. “Good. And that’s bad?”
“No” He smiles, some of the tension in his shoulders dissipating. “We haven’t always seen eye to eye, but the current shifted somewhere along the way. But we still never landed on the other side. We had moments that I held on to but… I just wanted more. You’re this brilliant, beautiful stubborn woman who unravels something in me and that moment…” he breathes heavy, leaning into her their lips a brush away. “I wanted to kiss you like I’ve wanted to do many times. I wanted to more than kiss you. I was so close to you I felt intoxicated by you and the following day and the next I wanted to ask you out but, I figured you were only friends with me because we have mutual friends…”
Before he can finish she presses her lips to his. His words tattooed themselves on her skin, on her fucking heart. If she had known that there was even a possibility she would’ve tried not to avoid him so much. But it was hard, having a crush on someone you were sure was a little revolted by you and only grew to tolerate you, a crush that seemed to get stronger with time and that terrified her.
None of those moments they have shared compare to this. The way Bellamy feels against her right now. His strong hand holdsssss her jaw as he kisses her with so much passion she feels like everything inside of her is melting. He tastes like peppermint, fresh and clean. A small gasp of air escapes her lips as he pulls away, his forehead resting against hers and they both try to catch a breath.
“It’s been a while since I just saw you as just a colleague Bellamy,” she admits eliciting a grin from him “I have wanted us to land on the other side for a really long time. To be more. I like how smart and dedicated you are. And I love how you look at me sometimes and how funny you are even though you don’t really share those parts with me…”
His hand caresses her jaw tenderly. His eyes melt her, “I want you to get to know me Clarke, all of me,” he kisses her forehead, and her body is overwhelmed by every magical feeling she can fathom. And then he captures her lips, this time kissing her like a starved man.
Intoxicating.
☪☪
When Clarke wakes up the next morning, stirring up softly she’s tucked securely on Bellamy’s side. They both laughed about how if they could’ve just talked they would’ve realized they both wanted the same thing, each other. The events leading to this were weird but right now as warm tides rush over her, she doesn’t regret it. It’s Christmas and this is the year she wants to be in his arms.
Bellamy groans softly, his fingers trailing softly across her arm. She tilts her head up slightly to look at him smiling at her. “Hey,” he says hoarsely.
Unable to contain the huge grin inside of her she says, “hey. Merry Christmas”
He shifts, pulling her up to him his words falling on her lips before capturing them. “Merry Christmas”