"I've never seen him like this before. He loves kids. He never yells at the kids!" Octavia was starting to sound seriously worried. "Do you think there might something really wrong with him? I mean, who knows what the mountain men did before Maya found him."
OR
Bellamy's insufferable. Clarke prescribes snuggling.
This turned into a smut-fest! Just a warning to any readers that aren't into that kind of thing. Please let me know if you liked it!
Disclaimer: I don't own The 100.
Touch
"You've gotta do something."
Octavia was the sixth person to tell her that today and it wasn't even lunchtime. She threw up her hands. "He's your brother! You do something."
"I've tried but he doesn't want to get a lecture from his little sister. He'll listen to you. You're his…Clarke."
Clarke sighed and looked across camp to where Bellamy was berating a scared boy for spilling some gunpowder. The kid seemed to be shrinking as Bellamy's voice rose dangerously with his misplaced rage.
"I've never seen him like this before. He's yelling at the kids. He never yells at the kids!" Octavia was starting to sound seriously worried. "Do you think there might something really wrong with him? I mean, who knows what the mountain men did before Maya found him."
Clarke patted Octavia reassuringly on the shoulder. "I don't think so. He's just stressed, overworked…frayed." She knew how he felt. "Has he-" Clarke stopped abruptly. The next words suddenly seemed impossible to say.
"What?"
"Has he…been…with anyone…lately?"
She looked confused for half a second. "Eww, gross! That's my brother you're talking about!"
"I'm asking because I think it might be part of the problem," Clarke said through gritted teeth.
Thanks to the bustling projects he was involved in around Camp Jaha, Bellamy wasn't the ladies man he'd been when they first landed on the ground. Clarke knew that a lack of physical, loving contact could have adverse effects on some people's attitudes. And right now the whole camp was getting a chance to witness those side effects take hold of Bellamy.
"Well-" Octavia kicked a rock. "I haven't seen him with a girl in awhile."
"What's awhile?" Clarke asked impatiently.
Octavia frowned down at her foot while toeing around another rock. "Since before the mountain, I guess."
"That almost a year ago. What about while I was gone?"
Octavia glared at her with the same malice she'd showed when she'd discovered that Clarke had known about the bombing at TonDC. "No, Clarke. My brother barely talked to me, let alone anyone else while you were on your little vacation."
Bitter self-loathing descended on her and Clarke bowed her head to hide her rueful tears. Octavia scoffed. "Did he manage to get a girl to hook up with him when he wasn't busy moping around? I doubt it. He was miserable and miserable to be around." Octavia turned her rage on her brother as if it was his fault she was talking to Clarke about his sex life. "How could him no longer fucking everything in sight be a bad thing?"
Clarke grimaced, remembering vividly the way girls would flounce from his tent, sometimes in groups of two or tree. She didn't miss the days when she avoided his tent for fear of running into his harem.
"It's not really about sex. It's about contact, touching, hugging. All humans need it and if you go too long without getting it, you could become-" She gestured to Bellamy, who was stalking out to the woods with his axe. "Tense." She looked back to Octavia sadly. "Sometimes you just need someone."
"So your medical opinion is that he needs to get laid?"
Clarke closed her eyes with a sigh. "I was thinking more along the lines of cuddled. That's all I can really suggest. I don't have a store of mood stabilizing pills down here that I can prescribe him."
Octavia clicked her teeth together. "Well, this is officially not my problem." She patted Clarke on the back. "Good luck."
"Octavia, I'm not going to-"
She held up her hand. "Don't know, don't care. Just make sure that whatever happens, happens far, far away from my tent so I don't have to hear it." She walked away, leaving all her worries on Clarke's shoulders.
She'd arranged for Murphy to take his nightly watch shift and for Miller to run interference so that they wouldn't be disturbed.
She sat on his cot, listening intently for his approach, telling herself repeatedly that it wasn't weird that she was there. They might be close but they weren't 'come hang out in my tent and ambush me with a stress-relieving massage' close. So when he saw her on his bed, she couldn't blame him for looking startled.
"Clarke." He recovered easily and put down his gun before kicking off his old, tattered boots. "What's wrong?"
She smiled gently, hoping it would relax him. "I was hoping we could talk."
"Sure," he said slowly. "About what?"
"Well, about you and the bad mood you've been in for the last few days."
He frowned and seemed genuinely confused by her accusation. "I haven't been in a bad mood."
She raised one skeptical eyebrow. "You've been yelling at everybody."
"I have not!" he yelled.
"I saw you scream at Monty the other day. Monty," she stresses. "That's worse than yelling at a bunny."
"Someone has to be firm with these kids. You and Abby are always fucking babying them and that's not going to help anyone."
"I don't baby them."
"Things have gotten too easy for them. They're going to get soft and then when shit goes down, and it always fucking does, they wont' be ready! I'm just trying to keep them alert."
"I understand that but Bell…the way you've been acting has people worried. I think you need to tone it down some."
He snorted, disgusted. "You don't give me orders, remember."
"I'm not trying to give you orders. I'm trying to help you."
"Help me? Now?" he said incredulously. "Why, because I'm bothering you or because it's convenient for you?" He spat the words and Clarke took them like a punch to the gut. The worst part was that she felt she truly deserved them. She blanched under the deluge of his anger.
It took just a moment of him watching her crumble before he dropped his head with a miserable groan. He seemed suddenly small, a little boy with too much purpose sinking his heart. All the strength he carried like armor leaked away from him in the space of a heartbeat.
"Clarke, I'm…fuck."
"Hey." He looked up, those dark, soft eyes so beautiful in their pain. "Come here," Clarke said softly. She stood and held her arms out to him. He hesitated then stepped closer, nervous, before he collapsed into her, burying his head in her shoulder, bending his body at an impossible angle to get his arms around her waist.
She stroked his back, murmuring that it would be okay, that he was okay, that she was here. She ran her fingers through his hair again and again, scratched softly at the nape of his neck. She rucked his shirt up and splayed her hand over his lower back. His skin was always hot now, continuously sun soaked thanks to all the time he spent outside in the brutal summer heat. He trembled when she pressed her fingers into the dimples on either side of his spine.
He tried to remember his hurt, the reasons he had to be angry with her but her touch was so good, so tender and gentle and there was something utterly pure and selfless about the way she held him, wanting nothing more than to be close to him and soothe his aching heart. She was the pain and the relief, poison and antidote. Octavia couldn't understand why he'd been so desperate to see her come home but this was it. Clarke had broken him and only she could fix him.
He pulled back to wipe at his face and her neck was wet. She kept her hands on him, gripped his arms tightly. "I'm so fucked up," he said, head drooping, breathing ragged.
She cupped his jaw, smoothed her thumb over his cheekbone. There was a scar near his left eye and she stood on her tiptoes to kiss it gently. "I can help you." She didn't mean it to sound so breathy but his large hands were holding her hips and his fingers had wriggled under her shirt, and kept caressing the soft skin of her stomach.
Bellamy laughed and it was a broken, terrible noise. He allowed her to lead him and push him down in front of the cot. She crawled behind him, carrying a small bowl, and sat on the edge, let her legs fall to either side of him. He could turn his head and kiss her knee.
She plucked at the collar of his shirt. "Off." He reached around and pulled it over his head that way boys do. She poured a small measure of the oil Monty had concocted into her hands. His shoulders twitched when she began to rub them. She worked her fingers over his muscles and he eventually eased up and let his head fall back. "What's that smell?"
"Jasmine," she answered.
He inhaled deeply. "I like it," he said as his eyes closed. She smoothed the lines in his forehead and rubbed little circles into his temples. His jaw went slack when she messed with his ears, tugging on the lobes and tucking his hair behind the shells.
Clarke trailed her hands lightly up and down his arms and then over his chest. His heart beat strong and steady beneath her palm while she traced the dips and groves of his abs. She draped herself over him, laid her head on his shoulder. She touched the side of his neck, where a permanent scar ringed the flesh. She pressed her lips to the marred skin.
"Have you ever wanted to die?"
His voice was gravel, so low she thought she might've misheard him. "What?"
"There was a moment, in the mountain; they hung me upside down to drain me. The blood rushed to my head, fucked everything up. I don't know how long they had me like that before Maya found me. I was sick…couldn't think straight. I just wanted it to end."
She pressed her forehead into the back of his neck. "Bellamy."
"You kept me alive. I thought if I could do what you needed me to, all of that shit would've been worth it."
"You did do it. You're a hero, Bellamy."
"You still left." She gasped and tried to lean away but he gripped her hand. "And I wanted to die again."
"Jesus," she muttered, sure her heart couldn't take much more.
"You should have been here."
She sat back and he turned his head to watch her from the corner of his eye. "I get it. I know you couldn't stay but I needed you." He dug his face into her thigh. "You're my best friend…I needed you, Clarke."
"I'm sorry. It wasn't about you."
"I was afraid you'd say that."
She shuddered. "I didn't mean-"
"I used to only care about Octavia. I guess I should have kept it that way."
"Don't say that." She grabbed his hand. "You think I don't care about you? That I walked away from this camp and didn't think about you every day, every second? I didn't know how to be good for you anymore. That's why I left. I didn't want to ruin you."
They stared at each other, that bridge they'd always been running across to get to each other growing longer under their scrambling feet. "But fuck that. I came back for you. You have to know that."
She kissed his palm, his pulse, then fell into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and peppering his face in feverish kisses. She clutched at him, could feel that he was still on that precipice of slipping through her grasp or relenting to her.
She should let him go; she'd hurt him and probably would again. She knew this. But the cradle of his body felt like home and she was tired and more selfish with him than anything else in her life. He was hers and she was ready to claim him.
"We always forgive each other. It's our thing. Forgive me again. Let me show you how much I want you, need you," she whispered into the hollow of his cheek, felt him exhale over her ear. Her hands moved restlessly over him, greedily learning every rise and fall of his chest and stomach. "Let me love you."
He tilted her chin up. His lips on hers felt like redemption, his heartbeat, a promise.
He tugged off her shirt, grasping eagerly at the newly exposed planes of her stomach. He drew his fingers down the curve of her spine, skimmed the edges of her bra. She shivered as he fumbled with the rusty clasp at her back before huffing and ripping the damn thing away herself.
There was nothing graceful about it. She bit at the skin under his ear, he lapped at the sweat glistening on the rise of her breast. Her fingers tripped over the button and zipper of his pants. She pushed his boxers anxiously down his thighs so she could wrap her hand around his burning, hard length.
He growled as she stroked him, his desperation finally equaling hers. Her small hand eased over the tip, smoothed his cum down his shaft and he tried not to think about why she might be so good at this. He sucked her rough, pebbled nipple into his mouth and felt her resulting pleasure around his cock. He let his head fall into her breasts, overwhelmed by having her all over him. He gripped her thighs, dug his nails into her jeans and her rhythm faltered.
She grunted, annoyed and stood up, ignoring his whine of protest. "Up here," she demanded, patting the bed. He smirked and crawled onto it, stretching out.
"So bossy," he muttered.
She settled down between his legs and raked her nails down his inner thighs. His dick twitched on his stomach. "Are you complaining?"
"Not at all – fuck!"
Her tongue flicked over the tip of his cock and she hummed at the taste of him. Her lips closed around him and she sucked gently, swirling her tongue around the head. She reached to cup his balls in her other hand, rolling them gently in her fingers and his whole body went taut and rigid as he fisted the sheet beneath him. She eased down his length until he poked the back of her throat and she bobbed up and down, increasing the pressure and hollowing out her cheeks. He felt the tendrils of his control slipping away and he gripped her hair to stop her.
He hauled her to him. "But you didn't-" she started.
"I'm not finished with you yet."
He practically ripped her pants and underwear off before rolling them over, balancing his weight on his forearms so he wouldn't crush her. He shook as he tried to reign himself in. He kissed down her chest and stomach, smiling against her navel when she got noisy. He slid her legs over his shoulders, grunted when he could fucking see how wet she was for him. His tongue slid through her aching center and she sank her fingers into his hair, her thighs trembling on his cheeks. He worked her into a frenzy, easing back when he could sense that she was almost over the edge. He crawled up her quaking body, his cock nudging her clit. She seized at his body, desperate to grasp those stars just beyond her reach.
Bellamy sank into her to the hilt and Clarke went to heaven. Her hips canted up to meet his every thrust. Tight and warm around him, Bellamy knew he wasn't going to last much longer. Their desperation for each other escalated every moment. She cinched her legs around his back and pushed her tongue into his panting mouth. He spread his hand over her lower back, angling her body to reach a place deep inside that made Clarke cry out his name. He drove into her wildly, his control long gone, and when he rubbed tight circles into her clit, she crested that elusive wave of ecstasy. Her orgasm pulsated around his cock, pushing Bellamy to follow her down that current and to his own blinding release.
He wheezed into her neck for a several minutes but Clarke would have been happy if he'd never moved. She huffed under him, trying to calm her racing heart. Eventually, he shifted to his back, dragging her along. She wriggled over him, adjusting to being naked with him, not that it was difficult.
"You feel better?" she asked slyly. It might not have been her original plan but if the stupid, exhausted smile on his face was any indication, her method to distress him had certainly been successful.
"Did you plan this?"
"My plan was a stress-relieving massage. I guess I got carried away with it."
"You have my permission to get carried away whenever you want," he said through rasping breaths.
She laughed and kissed his sweaty cheek. "I love you," she said softly.
"Please, say that again."
Clarke propped up and leaned over to say it right into his mouth. "Bellamy Blake, I love you." He swallowed the words with a kiss to keep them forever.
"Love you, too."
The End.