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“Raven’s convinced you’re trying to get in my pants,” Clarke says matter-of-factly and Bellamy almost spits his drink out on the counter she’s been wiping down.
“And why would she think that?” he asks, trying to sound nonchalant.
Clarke shrugs with one shoulder. “Because you come in here every Friday night and only talk to me. I told her that you’re just socially inept and I’m the only one you can actually talk to.”
Bellamy frowns at her, furrowing his eyebrows. “I’m not socially inept,” he grumbles. “I have heaps of friends.”
“So you are trying to get in my pants?” Clarke asks, arching an eyebrow.
“No!” Bellamy splutters and Clarke tries to look unimpressed but he can see the tell-tale tightening of her lips that tells him she’s trying to hold in a smile. “Not that—I don’t—”
Clarke takes pity on him and cuts him off. “I’m just messing with you, Blake. I’ve seen you flirting and this isn’t it.”
That’s the thing; if Bellamy could flirt with Clarke, he would. He’s awesome at flirting. Before he and Clarke had started talking, he used to come in every week and was usually able to charm a girl into coming come with him by the end of each night. The first time he had talked to Clarke, he was trying to see if he could convince her, the pretty bartender, into leaving with him. Something about her caused all of his charisma to get swept away and he was left an absolute mess. He ordered far too many drinks that night, hoping they would loosen him up and he would be able to get back to his charming self. That only left him embarrassingly drunk and Clarke had to ring in a cab for his drunken arse.
He has since come to terms with the fact that he is incapable of behaving like a normal human being around Clarke Griffin. And it’s not like he’s even upset that he couldn’t win her over that night; Clarke is one of his favourite people and he connects with her like he hasn’t with anyone else. She can accuse him of only coming into the bar to talk to her, but she’s the one who always hangs around him and practically glares at anyone who tries to get her attention while she’s talking to him. Well, that was until Lexa.
Lexa started coming in about a month ago and, according to Clarke, introduced herself to Clarke by slipping over her phone number. Bellamy isn’t jealous. It’s just—he had kind of gotten used to the fact that Clarke was only friendly to him. Yes, she was perfectly polite to all of her other customers but it was largely forced. He was the only one she naturally smiled at, all wide and beautiful, and he was also the only one who got to see her more sarcastic, snarky side. Was he proud of that fact? You can bet your arse he was proud. But now there’s Lexa who’s ‘super fucking hot but in a scary way’ (Clarke’s actual words). And Clarke’s friendly with Lexa too, and maybe Bellamy’s just being selfish but he can’t bring himself to care.
“Is she looking at me?” Clarke whispers, leaning over the counter to get close to Bellamy’s ear. It would be much easier to think of Clarke in a platonic way if she didn’t lean over like that, giving him a perfect view down her top. It’s not like he’s being creepy or anything but her boobs are right there; where else is he supposed to look?
He turns towards where he knows Lexa is sitting and finds the brunette basically eye-fucking Clarke.
He clears his throat. “Um, she’s giving you bedroom eyes.”
“Bedroom eyes?” Clarke laughs, pulling away. She turns to look at Lexa who winks, fucking winks, at Clarke. Clarke whips her head back around to Bellamy, wide-eyed and blushing. And what Bellamy was thinking about earlier, about not being jealous? One hundred per cent wrong. Maybe even three hundred per cent.
“What do I do?” Clarke whispers in a rush, her eyes still open wide.
"Depends,” Bellamy shrugs, trying again to appear indifferent, “what do you want?”
“I don’t know, Bell,” she groans and this night has just been one horrible mess. How is he supposed to think straight when she’s calling him that?
She suddenly straightens up, determination taking over her features. “I’m gonna do it,” she says.
“Do what?” Bellamy is dumbfounded. She looks like she’s about to go into battle with a wild look in her eyes but he’s not sure how that would have any correlation to Lexa’s wink.
“I’m gonna fuck her,” she states and this time Bellamy actually spits out his drink. She frowns at him, disapproving, before wiping away his mess. “What? You’re the one who said I needed to loosen up and have more fun."
Okay, someone’s fucking with him. If there’s a god, or a Jesus, or whatever, they are actually messing with him. He said that on a night that they were particularly flirty with each other, hoping she would put two and two together. But now she’s using his words to fuck another girl and what the actual fuck is happening? Yes, he is slightly drunk. No, he is not overreacting.
Despite his jumbled thoughts he manages to keep his voice steady. “Then go talk to her,” he suggests because under all of his attraction and awe for Clarke Griffin, he’s an awesome friend.
“Okay,” she nods. “Okay, I’m doing this.”
If he didn’t have a horrible sinking feeling in his stomach, he would probably think her self-pep talk was unbelievably adorable. He watches as Clarke strides over to Lexa, looking as if she’s going into battle. When he attracts the attention of Raven, the other bartender, he hands over his car keys and orders a shot.
+
“I actually hate Clarke,” Raven grumbles as she throws Bellamy’s arm over her shoulder in an attempt to support his slumping body. “My fucking leg can barely hold my own body up, let alone your drunk arse. I hope you feel bad about making the poor disabled girl basically carry you.”
“Thanks, Raven,” Bellamy sighs.
Raven looks at him with deep pity in her eyes. She looks as if she might offer him some sage advice but instead only says, “you’re a mess.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, “I am.”
+
“So, Raven told me you got pretty wasted last week,” Clarke starts as she makes her way over to Bellamy.
Bellamy briefly considers just dumping his entire drink over his head because; he already looks like a complete fool—how could it get any worse?
“I wish Raven would stop talking to you,” he mumbles into his glass instead.
“Hey,” Clarke says, reaching over and taking his hand. He whips his head up to find her staring at him, her eyes imploring. “If you—I know I was making fun of you last week, but if you were actually interested in me, you could have just told me.”
“Oh,” is all he manages and a huge grin spreads across Clarke’s face.
“Yeah,” Clarke says as she uses the hand she’s still holding to tug him up and seal her lips over his. It’s a little messy, the kiss, because they’re both grinning into each other’s mouths and they’re far too eager. Also there's a thick, wooden bar between their bodies. But when Clarke’s tongue traces along Bellamy’s lips and he slips his fingers into her hair, he can’t think of a better way for their first kiss to go.
"I'm happy for you and all, but I'm pretty sure you don't get paid to do that, Clarke," Raven says. Clarke jumps away from Bellamy, and he can't help himself from feeling smug at how flustered she is.
"Yes--I'll, okay. Work. Right," Clarke manages, nodding to herself. She turns back to Bellamy, "I get off in an hour and a half?"
He only grins at her in response.
Seemly returning to her normal self, Clarke throws a snarky "Don't get drunk, again," over her shoulder as she marches over to serve a man with greying hair and a couple missing teeth.
+
Bellamy waits the one and a half hours (it feels more like one and a half years), his knee jumping the entire time.
Finally-- finally, she crosses over to where he is, leaning over his shoulder to whisper, "ready to go?" in his ear, while she runs her fingers along his sides. He doesn't answer because if he did, he'd probably shout something stupid like "I'VE ONLY BEEN WAITING MY WHOLE LIFE!" or something else equally embarrassing. Instead, he stands swiftly and takes her hand, practically dragging out of the bar.
Okay, so Bellamy's imagined this scenario far more times than he'd like to admit but it was never exactly like this. In his mind, they'd make it back to his place, and she'd fall into his bed, and after, when he woke up, she would be wrapped around him. Or something like that. But now her hands frantically trace his body, yanking at his shirt, his pants, and he only just manages to get her into the backseat of his car before she strips him down in front of the whole town.
"Clarke I--" he starts because she needs to know, needs to know this can't be a one time thing for him. That if he does this, he won't be able to go back.
She seems to read his mind, reaching out to cup his cheek, her thumb tracing along the apple of his cheek. "Bellamy, I want you. Not just now; but for as long as I can have you."
He can't stop the stupid grin that takes over his features as he moves down to slant his moth over hers, his tongue sliding inside. "Okay," he says against her mouth as he pulls back. He hovers over her for a moment, his lips just millimetres from hers.
"Bellamy?"
"Yeah?"
"You know the whole, 'getting in my pants' thing? I'd appreciate if you did that now."
He huffs out a laugh, ducking down to put his forehead to hers. "You don't have to ask me twice."