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i.
Clarke only feels moderately weird about letting herself into Wells and Bellamy’s apartment when she knows they’re not home.
On the one hand, the spare key they gave her is supposed to be for emergencies. On the other hand, she’d definitely consider being covered in someone else’s vomit an emergency.
When she applied to teach elementary school art, she’d known she’d probably come home messy most days. But with paint, and clay, and glue stuck to her skin. Not from a kid accidentally losing his lunch on her when he came to say he didn’t feel well.
It ended up being more show than tell.
Her principal had given her the go-ahead to cancel the rest of her classes for the day, but going home meant becoming the vomit lady on the bus, and it’s just so much easier for her to go two blocks over to use her friends’ shower.
Wells is the most generous person she knows; she can’t imagine he’d say no if she asked. And Bellamy… well, they’re not exactly close. He’s mostly just Wells’s roommate, Octavia’s brother, the friend in her group she’s least connected to. But he’s a teacher too, and the ultimate Mom friend. Even if he made fun of her endlessly, even if he bickered her into buying him a beer in exchange for the slight addition to his water bill, even if she had to face his smug smile, he wouldn’t actually bar her from using his shower in a time of crisis such as this.
None of those things are out of character for Bellamy. He loves giving her a hard time, and she’s had enough of that today. Which is why she doesn’t text them for permission first.
Instead, she smothers the slightly guilty feeling in the pit of her stomach, dumps her clothes in the wash, and lets out a long, shuddering breath when she steps under the spray.
It feels a little weirder when she reaches for the shampoo on the shelf. It’s just-- she hasn’t had a significant other, or even a one night stand, in quite a while. The last time she used someone else’s products, allowing someone else’s scent to cling to her skin and hair, was ages ago.
“Too long ago, apparently,” she grumbles to herself, working her hair into a lather. “Maybe it’s time to get you laid, Griffin.”
She can still hear the washing machine running when she shuts the water off, and considers her options as she wraps herself in a clean towel. It comes down to two options: she could rummage through Wells’s drawers for clean clothing to steal, or she can hang out, all but naked, in someone else’s home.
Neither seems like a great option, and she’s still debating with herself when the bathroom door suddenly bursts open.
“Bellamy!” She gasps, startling backward and clutching the towel tighter around her.
“Clarke?” His eyes go wide, then dart over her like he doesn’t know where to put them. She thinks he might be blushing too, but it’s hard to tell under the sheen of sweat and the post-workout flush making his skin glow.
And what a lot of skin there is, she realizes belatedly. He’s all firm arms and broad chest, wearing nothing but shorts and tennis shoes and one earbud, the other dangling from his hand, frozen in midair as they stare at each other.
“What are you doing here?” She demands, forcing her eyes back up to his face. He smiles crookedly, in what would be a smirk if he could find his footing faster. But he’s obviously been checking her out too, and the thought makes her more than a little smug.
“I live here, Princess.”
“Yeah, but-- don’t you have classes right now?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” he points out. “And I’m probably going to, so you should start preparing your answers.”
“I asked you first.”
He snorts and starts wrapping his earbuds around his phone. “I can really tell you spend all day around fourth graders. We only have half-days during exams. Your turn.”
“A kid threw up on me,” she admits, and he winces sympathetically.
“Sucks.”
“I decided against medical school specifically to avoid situations like this,” she grumbles. “Hope you don’t mind that I helped myself to your shower and laundry room.”
He laughs and steps close, leaning past her so he can start the shower warming. Her breath catches when he doesn’t move away, his gaze darkening as it flickers from her face, lower, and then back up to her lips.
“Feel free to help yourself to whatever you want, Princess.”
She wets her lips, smirking when he blinks, shaking himself, and looks back up to meet her eyes.
“Whatever I want, huh?”
And that’s how she ends up back in the shower, only this time, with him mouthing at her neck and her hand making him shudder against her. It’s how she learns firsthand that it’s Bellamy’s shampoo and body wash she used, both of them laughing as they smear suds on the other. It’s how she ends up on the bathroom counter, biting bluntly at his shoulder as he gets her off.
She’s never been much for shower sex-- too keenly aware of the potential hazards-- but damn if it isn’t fun .
When they’re both spent, she moves her clothes to the dryer and gratefully accepts a pair of sweats and a t-shirt that he offers.
It’s funny, she thinks as she tightens the string at the waistband. Just earlier, Bellamy had been too much of a stranger for her to even consider borrowing his clothes while she waited.
They settle in together on the couch, Clarke fooling around on her phone while Bellamy grades, and this part is nice too. The part where she doesn’t feel like she has to make awkward small talk, where she doesn’t have to have a serious conversation about whether this changes anything between them.
Whatever existed between them before could hardly be called a status quo, yet Clarke doesn’t feel as if either of them has expectations of a repeat show. (Though admittedly, she wouldn’t mind one.)
He gets up to walk her out once she’s changed back into her own clothes, lingering with one hand on the doorframe, just close enough for it to feel like flirting.
“So, uh-- thanks for the shower. And, you know. The shower .”
He laughs and she has to bite back on her smile. Acknowledging that he’s hot is one thing. Thinking he’s cute is dangerous territory.
“Anytime,” he says, clearing his throat. “My shower is your shower, with or without me in it.”
She grins and tips up on her toes, her lips landing somewhere on his jaw. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
* * *
She’s not exactly worried about things with Bellamy being weird, but all the same, it’s a relief a couple of nights later when they bicker and banter with their friends at the bar just like normal.
And okay, there are maybe a few more heated glances thrown each other’s way than usual, but Clarke is only human.
She thinks he might invite her to come home with him, but he gets her and Octavia and Harper into Raven’s car with a wave that’s nothing but companionable and heads back to his place alone.
She’s not disappointed.
She’s not.
She’s also not very good at lying to herself, because the pull of delight in her gut when her phone lights up is undeniable.
Bellamy: So what are you wearing?
She wiggles further under the covers, pretending she’s not grinning outright at her screen.
Clarke:
Bold move, Blake
You know what I’m wearing. You just saw me twenty minutes ago
Bellamy: Humor me, Princess
Clarke: When have I ever
Bellamy:
Did you not want to do this? I can’t tell if you’re giving me fuck off vibes or just really bad at flirting
But telling me to fuck off is always an option
She bites her lip and kicks her sleep shorts down her legs, losing them under the covers.
Clarke:
I’ve got on the shirt I borrowed from you the other day
And nothing else.
You?
Bellamy: [click to view image]
Her mouth goes dry as she opens his picture and settles in more comfortably.
She could really get used to this.
ii.
“Clarke?” He calls out when he sees her shoes already lined neatly by the door when he gets home. It’s not an uncommon occurrence, though she does normally text him first to see if it's okay if she comes over.
Not that he’s ever going to tell her she shouldn’t. In fact, he wouldn’t mind if she wanted to hang out more than she does, and not just for the unbelievable sex.
Though that is a perk.
“You should come in here,” she calls, and he smirks as he sheds his coat.
“This feels weirdly familiar,” he teases as he lets himself into the bathroom, but his face falls when he sees her.
She’s perched on the edge of the bathtub, wearing a look of consternation and holding her arms wrapped tightly around herself. It takes her a second to register that he’s there, and he follows the line of her gaze to where it’s fixated on the counter.
Where there lies a positive pregnancy test.
“Fuck,” he breathes, his eyes snapping to hers, which are wide and overwhelmed.
“Fuck?” She asks, sounding eerily calm. He kicks himself internally.
“Not-- I mean, fuck that’s-- big.”
“Yeah.” He lowers himself gently next to her, relieved when she doesn’t pull away. “It could still be a false positive.”
He swallows, still reeling. “How likely is that?”
“I don’t know.” She pauses. “ Fuck. ”
“That’s pretty much all that’s going through my mind right now,” he half-laughs, and she drops her head to his shoulder. He lets his cheek rest on her hair, tentative. He doesn’t want to push, but-- she started it, right? She probably needs comfort right now, and he’s maybe the only one who would remotely understand. “You okay?”
“I’m pregnant .”
“Possibly.”
“Probably.”
He reaches across and takes her hand, the feeling of her fingers sliding between his filling some unknown gap in his emotional state.
“I have a doctor’s appointment Friday,” she says softly.
“Do you want me to come?”
“If you want,” she says, sounding unsure.
“I’m probably going to be completely useless and anxious if I’m not there.”
“You’re going to be pretty useless and anxious if you are there,” she points out, hints of a smile in her voice. “But yeah, it would be nice to freak out together, probably.”
“Then I’ll be there.” He pauses. “That goes for-- No matter what, Clarke. I’ll be there.”
“I know you will,” she says softly, squeezing his hand in hers. “Can I stay here tonight?”
“Yeah, of course. I can take the couch.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” she huffs, nuzzling into his shoulder.
She doesn’t do this much-- seek out physical affection, stick like glue to his side, try to be close to him like this when they’re fully clothed and there’s no promise of starting anything. Under different circumstances, would be awesome . It still kind of is, but he wishes it could have happened without a catalyst.
“It’s in my nature.” He takes a risk and kisses her hair. Her hand twitches in his, but she doesn’t otherwise react. “I don’t want to pressure you.”
“Me either.” Her free hand taps an irregular rhythm against her knee, anxious energy overflowing from her. “I know it’s my body, but it’s both of our lives. If I kept it-- You wouldn’t know how to not be involved, and I don’t want to put that pressure on you either.”
“Do you think you might want to keep it?” He asks carefully.
“I wouldn’t want to do it alone,” she admits. “So this can't be something I decide by myself.”
“You won’t be alone,” he assures her, the one thing he’s certain of when the world feels like it has flipped around them. “We’ll figure this out together.”
“Can we figure it out later?” She asks, and he laughs, soft.
“Whenever you’re ready.”
* * *
Wells sticks his head into Bellamy’s room when he gets home from his shift at the bar, like he normally does if he sees the light on, and his eyebrows flicker upward when he sees Clarke curled into Bellamy’s side, her head in his lap as she snores softly.
It’s been an emotionally exhausting day for both of them, but Bellamy’s mind is still running too many circles for him to go to sleep just yet. He’d pulled out the book he’s been working through, but he hasn’t turned a page in at least twenty minutes. None of it is sticking in his brain.
Mostly, he’s just been stroking Clarke’s hair and trying to figure out what it is that he wants.
He wants Clarke, he knows that much. The rest, he’s still not sure about.
Bellamy doesn’t know if the gravity of the situation is written on his face, if Wells sees them cuddling without motive and recognizes it as something new between them, or if he just has some sort of special sixth sense when it comes to his lifelong best friend, but as he takes in the situation from the doorway, his face settles into an expression of concern.
“You good?” He whispers eventually.
Bellamy inclines his head. “I think so.”
“You got her?”
“Yeah.” He can’t help but smile just a little when he looks down at Clarke. “I got her.”
iii.
Clarke sighs as she slips off her shoes, gripping the doorframe to keep herself upright.
It’s been one of those days where the combination of people being horrible and herself being seven months pregnant took a toll on her. She hadn’t given it a second thought when her feet-- her swollen, aching feet-- took her to Bellamy’s apartment instead of her own.
She’d like to say it’s because her elevator is broken and taking the stairs is too exhausting, or that a lot of her stuff is here, but after a day like the one she’s had, she knows she just wants some comfort. Being around Bellamy somehow does that for her.
So does a long, warm bubble bath.
She pulls her hair up in a bun on top of her head, careful as she sinks down into the warm water. Keeping her balance is a bit tricky these days and the last thing she needs is a bruised tailbone making her more uncomfortable.
As soon as she gets settled, she can feel her muscles start to loosen. She turns on the audiobook she’s been listening to and closes her eyes, letting the peace of it wash over her.
She’s halfway startled by a soft knock on the door, but then Bellamy is there, crouching beside her, one of his hands coming to rest on her baby bump. She doesn’t know if he’s noticed that’s his first instinct when they’re in a room together, but she’s so far gone for him that she doesn’t mind.
They’re more than friends with benefits, although she still doesn’t know exactly where they stand with each other. They need to have that conversation before the baby comes, but she’s in no rush. They’ve got time yet.
“Hey,” she says, smiling tiredly at him.
“Hey.” His other hand cups the back of her neck, massaging the sore muscles there. She lets her head loll to one side, moaning at how perfect it feels. Even with her eyes closed, she can hear his smug grin as he asks, “You want Thai? I was thinking about ordering in.”
“Mmm, yes please. Extra-spicy?”
“Sure.” He starts to move away but she covers the hand on her belly with her own.
“Stay?”
He lets out a beleaguered sigh. “So needy, Princess.”
“Yeah, well. I’m carrying your child, so I get what I want.”
“Oh, he’s my child today?” He teases, pulling his shirt over his head. Clarke runs her eyes over his body appreciatively.
“He spent the whole day kicking me in the kidney. The only person who likes to poke at me more is you, so--”
“Sorry my obnoxiousness is hereditary,” he laughs, shucking his pants and nudging her to lean forward as he climbs in behind her. There isn’t that much room, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he pulls her to lean back against his chest, both of his hands settling over where the kid is kicking her again.
“He wasn’t the most obnoxious person I dealt with today,” she admits. “A parent sought me out this morning to tell me my lifestyle is setting a bad example for her son and she doesn’t want him coming to art class anymore.”
She feels him tense behind her and strokes his forearm soothingly with her fingertips.
“Do you know where she works?” He asks, trying to keep his tone light. “Just curious. I’m totally not planning to ambush her at her place of work and tell her that her asshole lifestyle is setting a bad example for my kid.”
Clarke laughs. “I handled her pretty well on my own. But if I ever need backup, I promise I’ll tag you in.”
“You better,” he mutters. “The nerve. It’s nobody’s damn business whether you’re having this baby with your spouse or a partner or by yourself or--”
“Or with my boyfriend?”
He pauses and she leans to one side so she can look up at him, smiling a little as he struggles not to let his grumpy expression be replaced with a pleased one.
“Yeah,” he says, gruff, and presses his lips to her cheek. “Him too.”
She grins and turns to face forward again. “Good.”
It’s quiet for a minute, and then Bellamy says, “He’s not the jealous type, is he? Because he might object to this bath situation.”
Clarke groans and swats at his knee. “You’re such a dad. I thought I still had a couple of months until the bad jokes started.”
“You love them.”
“I love you . There’s a difference.”
He noses at her jaw until she turns so he can kiss her, long and heady.
“I’ll try to make that distinction from now on.”
It’s not until later that night, when they’re about to fall asleep, that he says, “I love you too, you know.”
Clarke smiles and finds his hand (not that it’s hard; it’s literally always on her belly) to cover it with hers. She does know, and that’s pretty awesome.
+iv.
“Bell?”
“We’re in here,” he calls, one hand firmly holding Caleb against his chest, the other working the baby soap gently into the tuft of dark hair on his son’s head. Caleb kicks his feet and squeaks, which is not great for Bellamy’s grip when they’re both slippery with the shower’s steam.
“Quit squirming,” he grumbles. “You’re the one who made a mess of us.”
Clarke is smirking as she pulls back the shower curtain. She thinks it’s hilarious when he talks to their three-month-old baby like it’s a negotiation.
“Hey, sweetie,” she coos when Caleb sees her. He doesn’t have much control over any of his muscles yet, but when he sees his mother he flails a little stronger and his mouth drops open in what they’re calling a smile. “Is it okay if I intrude on this father-son bonding moment?”
He rolls his eyes. “Oh, yeah. Nothing brings people together like being covered in spit up.”
“Worked for his parents,” she teases.
“We’re the exception, not the rule.”
“That’s fair.”
He cups some water in his hand and tilts Caleb back so the soap won’t run into his eyes. Clarke reaches out to trace his soft cheek, his tiny nose. Neither of them can really keep their hands off of their kid for long.
“You have fun with Raven?” He asks, passing her the baby to towel off and diaper up while he gives himself a quick scrub.
“It was a good time,” she says, Caleb’s eyelids fluttering closed as she swaddles him and starts to rock him back and forth. “I missed my boys, though.”
He smiles and shuts the water off, watching her gaze in awe at the tiny person they made. It’s the same look he catches on his own face six or seven times a day, so he’s not exactly in a position to tease her about it.
He pulls a clean pair of sweatpants on and wraps his arms around his family.
“We’re glad you’re home,” he says into her hair.
She leans further into him, both of them staring down at their son in her arms.
“Yeah,” she agrees. “Me too.”