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“You used her to get to me.” Bellamy says after a long while of watching the Grounder. Maybe he should apologize. Maybe he should finish the job. Maybe he should just leave.
The Grounder says nothing. He just watches Bellamy with dark, tired eyes. He’s said nothing and Bellamy doubts he’ll say anything. He knows he understands, sees it in his eyes, but he is silent. He’d refused Clarke’s attempts to tend his wounds, even refused Octavia. She had been the one to save him from their wrath, but he refused her. It was Bellamy who he allowed to touch him.
Bellamy knows he should be angry. The Grounder had risked his sister’s life for…What? Had he even risked her life? If Octavia was to be believed, and he did believe her to some extent, this man had saved her life. Still he could not be trusted. He’d gone through his journal and found the drawings of their camp – of Octavia as well. He’d been more surprised to find drawings of himself. Multiple drawings. There were a dozen and a half of them from full portraits to the smallest thumbnail portraits. It was…Creepy… And maybe a little flattering.
He stood a little taller to clean a cut on the Grounder’s face. It was guilt that drove him to agree to help the Grounder (“He wants you,” Octavia had whispered in his ear.) What they had done was wrong. It was too Ark-like and that thought made him sick. They would do the same to him he was sure.
The Grounder turned his head, ever silent. He had barely flinched at Bellamy’s less than gentle cleaning of his wounds and even now is unmoving beyond his constant staring. The boy wasn’t trying to be rough, but roughness seemed to be a part of him.
“Thank you.” Bellamy decides that if he can’t apologize he can at least thank him. The Grounder almost smiles then as looks down at Bellamy. There is some height difference between them though the Grounder can barely stay on his feet. “You saved my sister.” He swallows, hand still moving to clean the cut. “I think I owe you one.”
And that gets a smile, as tired and pained as it is, it is a smile.
It was all of a sudden and far too quick for Bellamy to move out of the way. The Grounder had leaned in the few inches between them and pressed his bloody, chapped and broken lips to Bellamy’s own.
He had kissed men before and enjoyed it. Such things weren’t discouraged on the Ark. Population control was a big deal, something Bellamy knew all too well, and Bellamy found the human form agreeable with little care what was between their legs.
He pulled away quickly, scowling at the now grinning Grounder. He looked far too pleased with himself and that pissed him off.
“My name is Lincoln.”