Chapter Text
Clarke knew the drill. She was supposed to wait for Octavia to fall asleep before making any moves toward Bellamy’s room. But Octavia had begged her to watch a movie and she was Octavia’s friend, so she did while Bellamy worked on his thesis in his bedroom. As Octavia began to drift off in front of the TV, Clarke thought back to her night at the Blakes’.
She and Bellamy had gotten along all night, both of them laughing with Octavia over their shared dinner. When he finally started to beg off toward his room, it was late. She was getting ready to leave and go to her own apartment, but both Octavia and Bellamy told her to shut up and sleep on the couch. It was then that she smiled gratefully, her eyes remaining on Bellamy for a little too long. He nodded his head with a quick smile before turning away for his room. That was when Octavia told her she wanted to watch Titanic.
“That’s over three hours long, O,” Clarke reminded her and Octavia laughed, pulling her down to the couch.
“It’s spring break; we have nowhere to be in the morning.”
So, she agreed and she and O got comfy on the couch, lounging against opposite armrests. It wasn’t until the ship had hit the iceberg that Octavia’s breathing evened out and her hand fell off the couch. She was out.
Clarke got up from the couch, putting a blanket carefully over Octavia’s sleeping form, and headed for Bellamy’s room. Tonight was different, though.
“Hey,” he said quietly when she closed the door behind her.
“Hi,” she said with a soft smile. His brow furrowed at her and then his computer before he stood up.
“How was the movie?” He asked, hands sliding down her bare arms.
“Same as always. It hit an iceberg,” she shrugged and he smiled. “I want to try something new tonight,” she told him as her fingers played with the top button of his plaid shirt.
“Oh, yeah?” He asked with that stupid, devilish smirk of his that made her knees weak.
“Not like that, you perv,” she smacked his arm and he laughed before his lips latched to her neck. “We had a good night, Bell.”
“I know,” he said with a short nip on her collarbone. “Weird.”
“I want to know what it feels like,” she breathed and he stepped away from her.
“We’ve been sleeping together for months, Clarke. You know what it feels like,” he smirked again but her face remained stoic.
“Without stumbling into each other’s bed drunk or fighting first,” she amended and she watched as he let out a deep breath. “We get along more than we don’t these days, but you’re always picking fights before we sleep together. Not tonight.”
“It works, doesn’t it?” He asked, arms crossing tightly over his chest. She stepped forward, her eyes never leaving his, and uncrossed his arms to hold his hands between them.
“I need to know if this means what I think it means,” she admitted and he tensed before dropping his eyes to the floor.
“It doesn’t,” he said quietly and she laughed before letting go of his hands and stepping closer.
“What are you so afraid of?” She asked and he just shook his head. She pulled on the top button of his shirt again, walking them backwards until she could sit on top of his desk and continued to pull him until he was between her knees. “Bellamy.”
“I’m not afraid of shit, Clarke,” he said with a familiar edge to his voice and her hand dropped from his body.
“Don’t do it,” she warned. “Pick a fight to make yourself feel better and I’m leaving. Whatever the fuck this is will be over. Okay?”
His eyes softened and his hands trailed up her thighs under her dress and sighed. “I hate you,” he told her and she smiled.
“I hate you, too,” she agreed and his hands moved from her legs to her face. When he kissed her, it wasn’t messy—like when they were drunk—or too hard—like when they fought. It was soft, it was all lips, it was exactly what she wanted.
“You’re sure she’s asleep?” Bellamy asked when he stopped kissing her to rest his forehead against hers. She nodded, reaching between them to unbutton his shirt. “Good,” he said before kissing her again.
Now he had one hand on her face, his fingers curling around her skull as his other hand went back to her thigh and under her dress until it was on her waist pulling her flush against him. His tongue ran the seam of her lips and she gasped as their kiss deepened. Her hands ran up his chest until they were on his neck and he pulled his away to take his shirt off before pulling back far enough to pull Clarke’s dress over her head.
Suddenly, everything hit her all at once—they weren’t fighting, they were stone sober, he was kissing her softly but passionately, then he murmured her name against her lips again. After this, they couldn’t go back. For months, they’d been having hate sex or drunken sex. But this was different. It would change everything. She was too far gone; she didn’t even want to get lost in him. She already was.
He tightened her legs around his waist—his lips never leaving hers—and he lifted her. They continued getting lost in each other as he crossed the room to his bed with her still wrapped around him. When she was on her back and he was above her, he pulled his face back from hers—just to look down at her—and her fingers loosened their grip in his hair and one hand fell to his chest.
“Say something dumb,” she said, offering him a way out--because she knew she'd do whatever he wanted as long as neither of them ended up in anyone else's bed-- and his brow furrowed. “If you want this to go back to how it was, start a fight. I won’t go anywhere.”
When Bellamy just smiled in return, her heart actually swelled and she pulled him back to her. It was different. It was slow and gentle and he was solely focused on her and her needs. She knew without a doubt that his mouth was leaving marks on her skin, but her fingernails were doing the same on his back and shoulders. Neither of them minded.
Clarke wasn’t sure when Bellamy went from that guy she sometimes had sex with to the guy she couldn’t stop thinking about. When she remembered that first time they slept together—drunk and angry—she remembered how good it felt to just get everything out on the table. The next time it happened, they fought again and when Bellamy slammed her door behind him she was ready to scream into a pillow, but then he came back inside and they got lost in each other again. After that, whenever they fought or drank just a little too much, they’d end up in each other’s beds—or on Monty and Jasper’s couch.
They never talked about it. And on the nights they weren't fighting or drinking, Bellamy would purposely egg her on. At some point, she stopped caring because it wasn’t about the sex anymore. It was about him. And when he was being so gentle, so caring, she knew on some level that it had always been about Bellamy.
He was Bellamy. When they were younger, he was her best friend’s cooler, mysterious big brother. As they got older and two years didn’t feel like all that much time, he became her hard headed friend. He had ber back. He made her laugh. He made her crazy. He made her blush. He made her scream. He made her melt. He was Bellamy.
“Don’t go,” he whispered as he pulled out of her.
“What?” She asked through her heavy breathing, tightening the sheet around her chest.
“I pick the fights, I tear away any sense of real emotion,” he admitted, looking at her from his side of the bed. “But you run away or push me away before we even catch our breath. What are you so afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid of shit, Bellamy,” she said echoing his earlier words and he narrowed his eyes at her until she laughed. She sighed and rolled over to rest against his chest—her face just inches from his. “You. Me. I’m afraid of this because it’s not just- for me, it’s not just…”
“We’re past that point now,” he told her after she trailed off. “I’ve been past that point for a while now, just waiting for you to catch up.”
“Then why the fights? Why couldn’t we ever just… be together?”
“Because for two smart people, we aren’t very good at the talking thing,” he laughed and she nodded and rolled her eyes. “Don’t go. Stay here tonight. I hate when you leave.”
“You hate it?” She asked with a small smile and he nodded. “Like you hate me?”
His hand ran across her bare back and pulled her so even more of her was on top of him and kissed her. “No,” he said against her lips before his head fell back against the pillow again. “I hate it. I hate it like I… care about you.”
Clarke bit the inside of her cheek to keep her smile from growing, but lost her internal battle and she beamed. “Then I’ll stay,” she promised and his own smile made everything else fall away. It made her forget about Octavia sleeping on the couch just down the hall. It made her forget that they’d have to figure out how to tell their friends and how they’d all have their own loud opinions. All that was left was her. And Bellamy. In each other’s arms. In his bed. With no where else they wanted to be. With each other.